


I Charge Extra for Stalag Calls

by Tuttle4077



Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965), MASH (TV)
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 67,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28843200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tuttle4077/pseuds/Tuttle4077
Summary: When London makes a mistake, the boys need to set things right. But will Hogan's pride get in the way? (Yes. Yes it will.)This is technically a crossover with MASH, but no knowledge of the series is required- it's a Hogan's Heroes story through and through with a visiting character.Originally posted 2008 and finished in 2018
Kudos: 2





	1. Mule Muffins and Pies

The distinct sounds of battle filled the air- the clatter of gunfire, the high-pitched whistling of bombs and the terrifyingly loud explosions that followed. And, of course, the cries of men, wounded, dying, or just plain scared.

Colonel Sherman T. Potter paid little attention to it. This wasn't his first war and it probably wouldn't be his last- if he survived. Right now, he had to focus on the young man who was laying in front of him on a rickety table, bleeding and groaning in pain.

The building, a house the unit had commandeered, shook and great clouds of dust fell from the ceiling. Potter covered his patient as best he could and when the better part of the dust cleared, he went back to work. "Just take it easy, son," Sherman said softly, taking a moment to grip the young man's shoulder. A moment of tenderness was all he had time for though and after a small smile of reassurance, he went back to work. "Damn this light!" he muttered, although he supposed he could not expect much, what with being in the basement of an old building in the middle of a war zone.

The day had started out innocently enough- if one could consider operating in a tent several miles from the front innocent. Then word had come from a nearby town on the front lines. The Allies were pushing the Germans out, but the casualties were heavy and a surgeon had been requested. Whether it was insanity or bravery or both, Potter had volunteered. Another doctor, much younger than the short, ageing colonel, had laughed at the idea, but it only served to steel Potter's resolve. He wasn't _that_ old and he could certainly handle himself better under the pressure of battle than the young captain.

It didn't take long to realize the report had been a little overly optimistic about the condition. In fact, the Germans were not being pushed out- it was the Allies. A minor setback, someone had told him earlier.

"Sir!" Potter turned his head to see a sergeant rush into the room. "Sir, orders have been sent for a retreat!"

"Retreat? Sufferin' saddle soap! You just came in ten minutes ago and said everything was fine! What in the name Marco blessed Polo happened?!"

"That was five hours ago, sir!"

"Mule muffins! All right, everyone grab a partner and clear out!" Potter barked, gesturing for the medics and the less seriously wounded to help the incapacitated.

"You too sir," the sergeant said when Potter didn't make any move to leave.

"I need five minutes. You go on and skedaddle."

"You don't have five minutes! The Krauts'll be here any second."

"Then you better get going. That's an order, sergeant," Potter ordered sharply. The sergeant hesitated but after the building shook with another close bomb, decided to obey orders and scrambled up the stairs.

It took less than five minutes actually, but by then it was too late. Potter had just slapped a pressure bandage on the kid's stomach when he heard shooting above his head. Shouts filled the air and a moment later there were loud footsteps coming down the stairs.

Potter had been in the cavalry during WWI. Though he was a doctor now, he had killed before and would do it again if he had to. As the sounds grew closer, Potter reached to grab the pistol from the wounded soldier in front of him.

"HALT!" a voice barked. Potter stiffened, his hand hovering over the gun. He briefly wished he was a character out of a Zane Grey novel- with the ability to turn and fire a shot with the speed of lighting. "Hands up."

Potter did so and slowly turned. Three men in German uniforms were behind him, submachine guns pointed right at his chest. "Easy now." He grabbed his collar, showing them his caduceus pin. "Look, doctor. I won't-" He didn't have time to finish as he was grabbed and roughly hauled away.

* * *

Colonel Robert E. Hogan looked over the message Sergeant Kinchloe had handed him, something of a scowl crossing his features.

"They do realize that in the past two months, we have blown up five factories, a train station, an airstrip and two bridges, right?"

Kinchloe nodded. "They're aware of that. That's why they gave us this; they know we can do it."

"What's the problem, colonel? It's just one little tank factory!" Sergeant Carter said brightly, probably already thinking of which explosives he was going to use.

"The problem, Andrew, is that now the woods out there are crawling with Krauts!" Corporal Newkirk answered sourly. "Blimey! They need to give us a break every now and then! Not only do we need a ruddy rest but the Krauts need a chance to relax!"

"Agreed," Hogan said darkly. He looked over the message again and let out a little sigh. "All right, here's the plan. Newkirk, Carter, LeBeau, you'll go out tomorrow dressed as a German patrol. According to the underground, there's enough out there that you'll probably won't be noticed if you run into another one."

"Probably," LeBeau groused. "Except we will be carrying explosives!"

"Carter, you think you can whip up something small enough to carry without anyone noticing but big enough to bring down a factory that big?"

"Sure thing, Colonel. I've been working on this new plaster. It's pretty stable but, boy, when you let it off, it just goes-"

"All right, Carter," Hogan interrupted, rubbing his forehead.

"What about you and men, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

Hogan scowled. "I'm staying here. General Burkhalter is coming to camp and if I'm gone, he'll notice. Kinch, they're going to need papers, just in case they're stopped. Identification, orders, you know the drill."

"Right," Kinch said with a little nod. He pushed himself away from his radio and motioned for LeBeau to come help him.

"I need to fix a few tears in those uniforms," Newkirk said after a moment before he too, left.

"Carter, what about your explosives?" Hogan asked when Carter didn't move.

"Ready, sir," Carter informed him. He squirmed slightly before continuing. "You're not really worried, are you, Colonel?"

Hogan paused, debating how he should answer. Of course he was worried. Really worried. Ever since D-Day, London had been putting a push on them to cripple the German war effort even more than before. In the same stroke, the Germans, who now needed their resources more than ever to try and push the Allies back, would be more determined to find Papa Bear and stop all the sabotage. It all had to catch up to them eventually.

"No, not more so than usual, Carter," Hogan finally answered, though he sensed that Carter didn't really believe.

If he didn't, Carter made no mention of it. Instead, he smiled cheerfully. "Good. Don't worry a bit. It'll be a piece of pie!"

"Cake, Carter, cake," Hogan corrected, swearing that by the end of the war, he would get it through Carter's thick skull.

"What?"

"Never mind, Carter. Never mind."


	2. Dentures

For the second time in his life, Colonel Potter was a prisoner of war. The first time he had been just a young enlisted man and was more scared than he would ever admit. He had just been a lowly corporal then and was not given very many courtesies. True, being a prisoner back then had had a better survival rate than being on the field, but it still wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat.

There was, however, a big difference between then and now. Now he was an officer- a colonel- and a doctor and was treated accordingly. It made him wonder how the enlisted men were being treated nowadays.

He had spent the last week in a transition camp. He had initially been questioned, but as a doctor, he had very little information.

During the day, he was sent to the infirmary to tend to any of the wounded that came in. The conditions were less than ideal, but at least they were letting him do something. At night, he was kept in a tiny, dark cell, all by himself. This was where he was now.

With a tiny sigh, Potter rested his head back against the stone wall of his cell, closing his eyes and searching for sleep. Usually, it came quite quickly- after all, with almost thirty years in the army, he had slept in worse places and in worse situations- everywhere from foxholes to horseback. But tonight, he was having trouble. It was as if he could almost sense something was going to happen.

He let out another sigh and decided to give up on the idea of sleep. As he sat, he found his thoughts wandering home: to his wife, Mildred. How was she holding up? Had she gotten word yet? She would probably be terrified when she did. Potter's heart ached for her so much that he almost forgot his own predicament.

Almost. But the reality of his situation came crashing back when the door suddenly opened, filling the room with light. Potter blinked and held up a hand to shield his eyes.

"Good morning, Colonel," a voice said. After his eyes had adjusted, Potter looked up to see a Captain Herzog standing in the doorway. Herzog had questioned Potter his first day here and had overseen much of his captivity.

"Morning?" Potter asked, slowly getting to his feet, and brushing himself off.

"0900, to be exact," Herzog informed him.

Potter scrunched his nose. That wasn't right, was it? "Are you coming to escort me to the infirmary?" Herzog never did that.

"You are being taken to a prison camp, Colonel," Herzog explain curtly.

"What kind of prison camp?" Potter asked.

"An officer's camp several hours away. They are in need of a doctor there. You will have sufficient equipment and supplies to suit your needs, according to the Geneva Convention."

"Bull cookies!" Potter growled. "That came right off the stable floor!" Herzog seemed a little startled at Potter's outburst. The short doctor just glared at him. "I'll be lucky to have band-aids!"

Herzog dropped the pretences. "You are most likely right, Colonel. Now, if you will come with us."

They didn't grab him, but instead moved aside so that Potter could pass them and the led him through the building, up a flight of stairs and then outside. A truck was waiting in the compound. A few other officers were being loaded in. Potter followed suit and hoisted himself into the back of the truck, settling down on a bench against one side of the bed.

The truck shuddered as the engine started up and a moment later, they were rolling through the front gates of the Dulag.

"What time is it?" someone asked after a few minutes.

"0900," Potter supplied, looking out the back of the truck. It really was morning. He hadn't caught a wink of sleep but barely felt it.

"How long is the trip?" another officer asked.

"Several hours, if we're all going to the same place," Potter answered. Silence fell upon the prisoners. Potter let out a sigh and closed his eyes. Now, with his fate decided, sleep came easily.

* * *

Hogan was not in a good mood. As he paced the tunnels below Stalag 13, he debated the merits of calling off the mission entirely. It didn't seem right to send his men out alone. But earlier that day, Klink had extended a dinner invitation to him and it would've been suspicious to turn it down.

"Kinch, get a hold of London," Hogan order as he came to a stop behind Kinch who was sitting at his radio.

"Right." Kinch slipped on his headset and turned a few knobs. "May I ask why?"

Hogan waved his hand in the air. "I've just got a bad feeling. You said this mission was important?"

"London was pretty insistent. Said it was imperative," Kinch said with a nod. Hogan started pacing again. He had already known that- the first message had said so. Still, there was something in his gut that told him to find another way around it.

"Papa Bear to Goldilocks, you there, Goldilocks?" Kinch said into his microphone.

There was a rush of static before a disembodied voice answered. "This is Goldilocks. Go ahead, Papa Bear."

Kinch handed the microphone to Hogan. "All yours sir."

"Goldilocks, about Big Bad Wolf's new set of dentures, are they really that sharp?"

"Very. In fact, they could bite right through a house of straw."

Hogan clenched his fist in frustration, both at the news and the ridiculous codes they were forced to use. House of straw? Hogan's mind whirled, trying to churn out a translation. The Allied lines were too weak. If those tanks were sent to the front, they would get right through. Damn. "Any chance of Red Riding Hood dropping a basket of eggs?" Could they just bomb the stupid factory instead?

"Negative, Papa Bear," Goldilocks answered apologetically. "She's heading to 15 Sycamore Street for a visit instead." Hogan looked to Kinch for translation.

"Bombing in Sector 15," the radioman replied. Hogan grimaced.

"Can dentist trip be delayed?"

"I'm afraid not, Papa Bear. The first set of dentures are set to be shipped tomorrow."

Hogan let out a sigh. "All right, thanks. Papa Bear over and out." Hogan set the microphone down. "They boys all ready to go, Kinch?"

"Explosives are packed and their papers are all in order," Kinch confirmed with a nod. "They should be ready to go right after roll call."

"Okay. Let's go up top. The sooner they go, the sooner they can come back and the less time I have to grow more grey hairs." Hogan pulled his cap off and ran a hand through his hair. He was getting too old for this.

"All right, let's go." Hogan made his way to the ladder and climbed up to the barracks above, Kinch following right behind him. They had just climbed out of the tunnel and had closed the trap door when Schultz burst into the room.

"Roll call, roll call!" the rotund sergeant of the guard announced.

"Boy, Schultz, couldn't you at least say 'hi fellas' before you start ordering us around?" Carter asked from his bunk. "It's only proper manners after all."

Schultz chuckled and looked sheepish. "I am sorry, Carter. I will try it again." Schultz turned on his heel, opened and closed the door and turned back. "Good evening fellas," he greeted.

"Good evening Schultzie," the prisoners answered in unison.

"ROLL CALL!" Schultz shouted in return.

"Schultz, we've really got to work on your people skills," Hogan said, rolling his eyes.

Schultz laughed again. "I was only joking, Colonel Hogan. But you really must fall out for roll call. General Burkhalter will be here any moment."

"All right, you heard the man," Hogan said loudly. "Roll call, roll call. Everyone file out."

"Thank-you, Colonel Hogan," Schultz said as he moved aside for the prisoners to file past him, counting them as they did. "Fifteen. Good!" He followed the prisoners out and proceeded to count them again when they had formed their lines. "Fifteen again!"

On cue, Klink's office door opened. The camp kommandant stood at the top of the steps, looking out at the compound before he marched down. "REPOOOOOOOOOORT!"

Schultz gave a salute. "All present and accounted for!"

"As it should be. Colonel Hogan, I would like you to inform your men that the area surrounding Stalag 13 and Hammelburg is being subject to more patrols than usual. Escape is twice as impossible, so I suggest your men abandon any hope."

"Escape?" Hogan repeated, sounding shocked. "You mean leave this spa? There's a war going on out there in case you didn't know! Besides, why try and escape? From what I've heard, there'll be a few Shermans rolling through here any day now!"

Klink stamped his foot on the ground. "Hogan-"

The sound of a car pulling into the compound cut him off. Klink grinned and strode up to the staff car, his riding crop tucked tightly under his arm. "Ahhh, Genereal Burkhalter!" he called. When the car stopped, Klink reached out and opened the back door, offering a salute as he did. "General Burkhalter, I'm so glad you could make it this evening."

"I'm sure you are. But I think I should remind you that I don't come to inspect your camp until next week."

Klink's face fell a little. "Why should that matter?" He let out a nervous laugh and swatted the air with his hand. "Oh, if the general is thinking that I was trying to sway your opinion with an excellent dinner and-"

"That's exactly what I was thinking, Klink."

"The general is very clever," Klink admitted. Clicking his heels, he gestured towards his quarters. "After you, General." Burkhalter just rolled his eyes and started towards the office. "Oh," Klink said as he caught up to him, "I hope you don't mind, but I invited Colonel Hogan as well."

"I don't mind at all. In fact, I was about to order him to join us. I need some intelligent conversation tonight," Burkhalter said with a snort.

Klink started to laugh but when he realized what the general had meant, his laughter died with a whimper and he scowled. "My thoughts exactly," he muttered. He turned and looked at Hogan. "Colonel Hogan?"

"Coming, Kommandant. Let me just tuck my men in." Hogan turned to his men and ushered them into the barracks. "You guys all set?"

"Ready," Newkirk said with a nod.

"Don't worry about us, Colonel," Carter said.

LeBeau scowled, causing Hogan to raise an eyebrow in confusion. "LeBeau?"

LeBeau folded his arms across his chest. "I don't like it one bit!"

A feeling of relief washed over Hogan. At least he wasn't the only one who had a bad feeling about the mission. For a while there, he thought he was just overreacting. "Don't like what?"

"Klink. He is having Burkhalter over for dinner and he did not ask me to cook?!" LeBeau actually sounded offended.

Newkirk laughed and slapped LeBeau on the back. "I thought you didn't like cooking for the Krauts!"

LeBeau's scowled deepened. "I don't! But… but… it's insulting. The stupid Boche! For years I have cooked for him, my finest efforts, and he still would serve his guest German food!"

"Finest efforts?" Hogan said, raising an eyebrow. "I seem to remember one party where the hors d'oeuvres were made from dog food."

"Details!" LeBeau growled.

Hogan rolled his eyes. "Listen, if it makes you feel any better, the whole time I'm there, I'll be wishing for your cooking."

LeBeau seemed satisfied. "All right. I am ready now."

Hogan glanced at Kinch who just threw his eyes up at the ceiling and shook his head. "Okay, good luck men."

"We'll be back before midnight," Carter said as he started climbing down into the tunnels.

"Unless we meet a few good-looking birds. Then don't wait up for us," Newkirk added with a wink.

"Hold down the fort, Kinch," Hogan ordered before turning and slipping out of the barracks.


	3. Detouring Planes and Doctors

Kinch hated 'holding down the fort' as Hogan put it. It basically meant he sat back and waited, doing nothing. He realized, of course, that he just couldn't go on some missions. Still, he wanted to do something a little more exciting- and a little less nerve wracking- than just sitting and waiting and worrying.

Kinch held his wrist up, trying to catch the light of the dim oil lamps on the face of his watch. 2130. The others had been gone for about half an hour. It would take another thirty minutes or so to reach the factory and, depending on how many patrol were alerted by the explosion, two hours to get back. Two and a half, maybe three hours of waiting.

Kinch groaned and leaned back in his chair, throwing his head back. Maybe he would get a little shuteye. Right.

Suddenly, his radio came to life, causing Kinch to bolt upright in his chair. Cocking his head curiously, he grabbed his head set and slipped it on.

"Goldilocks to Papa Bear, come in Papa Bear."

"Papa Bear here, Goldilocks," Kinch said into the microphone.

"Oh good. I have some good news for you, Papa Bear," Goldilocks said cheerfully.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes. There's some bad weather over on 15 Sycamore Street. Red Riding Hood is coming to your neighbourhood!"

Kinch jumped to his feet and clenched the microphone tightly. "What? Our neighbourhood? When?"

"Shouldn't be too long now, Papa Bear."

"Holy cats!"

"Holy cats? Papa Bear, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? We're already taking care of the wolf's dentures!" A wave of panic rushed through Kinch. They were going to bomb the factory after all. He had to stop them or Carter, Newkirk and LeBeau would be caught in the raid. "Can you stop them?! Turn them back?!"

Goldilocks stuttered, seemingly flabbergasted at the news. "I'm sorry. After we redirected her, Red Riding Hood was ordered to maintain radio silence."

"Damn! Papa Bear out!" Kinch threw the equipment down on the table, not caring that his radio let out a few sparks of protest. He had to tell the colonel. No, no time. He was in the middle of dinner with Klink and Burkhalter. By the time he figured out a way to get out of it, the bombers would be at their target.

Without another thought, Kinch ran as fast as he could through the tunnels. He had to catch up with the others before they got to that factory.

* * *

Yes, he definitely wished LeBeau had been asked to cook, Hogan thought as he chewed on the tough piece of meat in his mouth. He glanced at his German companions, noting that they didn't seem to mind so much. Barbarians, as LeBeau would say.

"You are quiet tonight," Burkhalter said. It took a moment for Hogan to realize the general was addressing him.

"Oh?"

"Is something the matter Hogan?" Klink asked, also noticing that the charismatic colonel had been unusually quiet.

Hogan grinned. "Just thinking about how much I'll miss these dinners after we're liberated."

Klink shook his fist at the American. "Hogan you are not going to be liberated. The Allies will be pushed back into the sea!"

"I wouldn't count on being liberated soon," Burkhalter said at the same time.

Hogan raised an amused eyebrow. "You both seem to have different ideas on how the war is going." Burkhalter just snorted and took a sip of his wine. "And where do you get your information, Klink?"

"The Fuehrer," he answered, casting Burkhalter an uncertain glance. The general just rolled his eyes but said nothing.

"Hmmm. I wonder if a corporal and a colonel outrank a general," Hogan said thoughtfully with a sly grin.

Klink was about to answer when the sound of sirens filled the air. All three men looked up in confusion. A cold chill ran through Hogan when he realized what the noise was. "Air raid?"

"Air raid!" Klink yelled, jumping from his chair.

Hogan strained his hearing, trying to get past the wail of the sirens. Sure enough, there was a faint hum of engines. An air raid? What was going on? London had said their bombing mission was in sector fifteen! Maybe they were just passing through. But sector fifteen was-

A nearby explosion cut Hogan off. The building shook and the lights flickered. With a yelp, Klink dived under the table. "Klink, don't be a fool! They would not bomb a prison camp!" Burkhalter growled.

"Not on purpose," Klink whimpered back.

Burkhalter just rolled his eyes, stood up and started towards the phone on the other side of the room. "There is nothing to worry about. We are perfectly-"

Another explosion went off, throwing Burkhalter off balance. He let out a little cry of surprise and fell to the ground. A string of violent German curses followed.

"General?! General Burkhalter, are you all right?" Klink asked, crawling out from under the table.

"No! Klink come over here!"

The building shook again but Klink managed to scramble out from under his hiding place and rush to Burkhalter's side. "Hogan, help me with the general," he ordered. Hogan made his way over.

"What's the matter, General?" Hogan asked, reaching down to help the German officer up.

"I think I turned my ankle," Burkhalter growled. "Help me up."

Both colonels took an arm and with some effort, hauled Burkhalter to his feet. Burkhalter immediately shifted his weight off his ankle and hobbled to the nearby couch. He sat and tentatively put his feet on the table in front of him.

"Allow me," Klink offered as he bent down and pulled off Burkhalter's boot. "Oh my. It's all swollen!"

"That's the wrong foot, Klink."

Klink chuckled nervously. "Oh, of course. I knew that. In fact, this is a lovely ankle-"

"Klink, shut up."

"Yes sir, shutting up." Klink pulled off the other boot. "Hogan, look at this. What do you think?"

Hogan, who had been looking up at the ceiling, trying to gauge where exactly the bombers were and where they were headed and what their target was, snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the two Germans in confusion. "What?"

"Come look at the general's ankle," Klink said. "What do you think? Is it broken?"

Hogan peered over at Burkhalter's foot. "Yup, broken all right. Let me go and get Wilson for you." Not waiting for any acknowledgement, Hogan bolted and ran out the door.

What was going on?! Was London bombing the factory? Were his men all right?!

His rampaging worry and the distant thundering of explosions deafened him to the blare of a car horn next to him. It wasn't until he saw a truck skidding to a halt beside him that he shook himself out of his thoughts and stopped in surprise. The truck stopped mere inches away. A German soldier climbed out, cursing furiously at him. Hogan held his hands up in surrender.

"Hold it, hold it. I'm already a prisoner! But if it'll make you feel better, you can capture me again, just calm down!"

"Where is the camp Kommandant?" the soldier barked.

Hogan jerked his thumb towards the office. "He's in there. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to grab a medic." And with that, he rushed towards Wilson's barracks. Throwing open the door to Barracks 7, Hogan scanned the room and the surprised faces of his men until he spotted Wilson. "Wilson. Grab you bag and get to Klink's quarters. Burkhalter twisted his ankle." And with that, Hogan spun around and ran to his barracks. He needed to find Kinch.

* * *

Colonel Potter sighed as the truck hit another pothole. Why couldn't the Germans have just put them on horseback and transported them that way. It would've made for a smoother ride. His fanny was starting to hurt from all these bumps and jolts.

They had been in the back of the truck for hours. Along the route they had stopped once for a break but mostly, Potter had been sitting on the same bench all day. The morning had slowly turned into afternoon, which had slowly, slowly turned to night. The flaps at the back of the truck were open and Potter found himself staring blankly at the road as it fell behind them.

Another bump in the road nearly threw Potter out of his seat. Suffering sheep-dip, when were they going to be there?! He was up to here with this trip!

Potter, who was never one to be quiet when he was angry, was about to holler his protest when the sound of planes filled the air. All the men in the back of the truck instinctively looked up. Of course, they couldn't see through the canvas, but when they heard sirens go off, they knew whose planes were up there and what was probably going to happen.

Sure enough, there was a distant explosion and then a not so distant explosion. The second explosion shook the truck and it skidded off to the side of the road. Potter grabbed hold of the canvas behind him to keep himself from falling on the floor like some of the other men. There were a few shouts of surprise, in both German and English. The German guards in the back of the truck were the first to recover as they quickly aimed their guns at the prisoners to keep them from doing anything foolish.

Minutes passed, more explosions filled the air and the truck remained in place. Potter's heart raced wildly as the bombs got closer. Were they just going to stay there like sitting ducks? Well, if that didn't take the cake! Thirty years in the army and he was about to be done in by his own side!

The Germans up front were shouting at each other and after another moment, the truck started up again. Good.

The explosions were still going off when the truck turned and came to another stop. There were more voices before the truck started up again. They passed through a gate and Potter could see two guard towers looming beside it. A few more Germans came into view, following the truck, their guns pointed at the prisoners in the back.

"Where are we?" another prisoner asked, looking out the back at the German guards.

Potter craned his neck, trying to get a better view. Through the darkness, he could make out a few huts, a bit more barbed wire fence and another guard tower. "I think we're at a camp," he said after a moment. "A prison camp."

"Oh good," the other prisoner sighed. "Finally!"

They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, just listening to the bombs falling in the distance. They were getting further and further away, much to their relief.

"Doktor!" a voice said from the back. Potter started in surprise and looked at the back of the truck.

"Me?"

"Yes. Come with me, now," the German said.

"What for?" Potter asked gruffly.

"You are needed."

That was all Potter needed to spring him into action. He swung out of the truck and followed the soldier, aware that there was another one behind him with a gun pointed at his back.

Potter took the opportunity to look around the compound. It definitely was a prison camp. A few dozen rundown huts were placed here and there. There were some sturdier buildings as well- probably the one the Germans used. Right now, he was headed towards one of the latter buildings. A sign posted on the wall read "Kommandant's Office."

His escort led him up a few steps and opened a door to the side, ushering the doctor in. Potter was greeted with the sight of two men, one tall and thin, the other tall and fat, standing around another one, who was seated on a sofa, his feet propped up on a table. Another man, an American in a worn, khaki uniform, was sitting at the man's feet, inspecting one gently.

"Is this the doctor?" one of the men, a colonel by the looks of it, asked. His escort nodded.

"Colonel Potter," Potter said with a quick salute. "What's going on here?"

"General Burkhalter has broken his foot," the colonel informed him. "One of our prisoners is looking at it, but when he said he was transporting a doctor... well, a general deserves a real doctor, not an out of practice field medic!"

The American at Burkhalter's feet looked offended and opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it. Instead, he turned his attention to Potter. "Over here, sir."

"Is it broken?" Burkhalter asked with a painful grimace.

Potter made his way over, looking at the general's ankle. He let out a little snort. Even from this distance he could tell it was only sprained. But he sat down and took it in his hands anyway. He glanced at the other prisoner who shrugged.

"I'm just an out of practice field medic."

Potter arched an eyebrow then turned his attention back to the ankle. "It's just a little sprain, General. Keep it up for a few hours and it'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" the colonel asked nervously.

"Well, I've only been a doctor for twenty some odd years," Potter replied, rolling his eyes. "I could be wrong." The colonel looked sheepish. Good! "I'll bind it up, if you'd like," he suggested, looking at the German general. Burkhalter screwed up his face and nodded.

"Schultz, bring some bandages!" the colonel ordered the massive sergeant beside him.

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!" Schultz left and returned a few minutes later with an armload of bandages. "Here, Colonel, doctor, sir!"

Potter rolled his eyes at the amount and handed off what he didn't need to the other American. The American nonchalantly stuffed a few rolls in a bag beside him before handing back the excess to Schultz.

It took little or no time for Potter's expert hands to bind the general's foot. By the time he was finished, the distant rumblings of explosions had stopped and the sirens were whining down.

"Thank-you," Burkhalter said, nodding to Potter. Potter stood and returned the nod.

"Yes, thank-you, thank-you. You probably saved the general's life!"

"Klink! I would not have died from a sprained ankle!" Burkhalter growled.

"Oh, of course not!" Klink turned to Potter's escort. "You may take your prisoner back now. It sounds like the air raid is over- the roads should no longer be dangerous. Oflag 18 is only an hour away."

"Thank-you, Herr Kommandant," the soldier said, offering a salute. "Doktor?" The soldier gestured to the door. Potter straightened himself, took the opportunity to stretch and then headed back into the compound. He was led to the truck and climbed in, setting back on the bench.

With a shudder, the truck started up again and soon, they were headed out of one camp and on their way to another.


	4. A Pathetic Sight

Kinch let out a silent curse as he pushed himself against the tree. Daring a peek around the trunk he watched as three German soldiers scanned the areas with their flashlights. He didn't have time to dodge these patrols. Those bombers would be coming in less than ten minutes. He had barely made it a mile. There was no way he would be able to catch up with the others in time.

But he had to try.

When the soldiers turned in the opposite direction, Kinch darted from his hiding place and sprinted to another tree. He kept an eye on the soldiers, but they hadn't heard him. And so he went, from one tree to another until he was sure he was out of earshot. Of course, by the time he got past that patrol, there would be another just ahead. Now he knew why Hogan had sent the others dressed as a patrol. One more wouldn't be noticed.

Kinch's heart raced with as the seconds ticked by. Suddenly, the distant sound of planes filled the air. No, no, no! The nearby patrol had also noticed it and they started shouting. Kinch took advantage of their distraction and bolted from his hiding place behind a tree and started running. If the Germans had noticed, they didn't have time to react because just then, there was a loud whistling noise and a sudden explosion, not more than a hundred yards away.

The force of the explosion shook the ground, causing Kinch to stumble and fall forward, landing on the forest floor with a thud. He stayed on the ground for a minute, listening to the explosions going off around him.

He was too late. But that wouldn't stop him. He had to reach the others.

Taking a deep breath, Kinch rose to his feet and, as bomb exploded around him, started running.

* * *

"Olsen!" Hogan yelled as he rushed into the barracks.

"Colonel? What's going on? Air raid? I thought London wasn't-"

"Never mind. Come with me." Hogan raced to Kinch's bunk and hit the bed. As soon as the trap door opened, Hogan practically leapt onto the ladder and scurried down. He jumped off with a good five feet to go. "Kinch? Kinch?"

Kinch was nowhere to been seen. His equipment was lying haphazardly next to the radio which crackled irritably. Had Kinch known about the air raid? Had he gone after the boys? Why hadn't he told him? Hell, why hadn't he at least told Olsen or one of the others?

"Sir, I thought London wasn't sending bombers. What about Newkirk and-"

Hogan punched the wall, cutting the sergeant off. "Damn." He looked down the dark tunnel. He had to go after them. If they were hurt, they would need help back. Of course, he could just be putting himself in danger and then where would they be?

Hogan dismissed the thought. It didn't matter. He was going.

Turning to Olsen, he gestured to the tunnel. "Let's go."

* * *

The explosions had stopped but the forest was far from quiet. Fires crackled in the distance and the shouts of men filled the air. The three saboteurs paid them no mind.

Newkirk staggered and reached out to grab the tree in front of him. Leaning against it, he stopped to catch his breath. His head pounded, and his vision blurred. "We've got to stop," he said between harsh breaths.

"We don't have time to stop. This place is crawling with Germans!"

"Five minutes," Newkirk said. His legs shook from the weight slung over his shoulder and he abruptly dropped to one knee.

With a grunt, LeBeau agreed. Carefully, he helped Newkirk lay Carter on the ground. Newkirk let out a relieved sigh and sank against the tree trunk, leaning his head back and cradling his arm against his chest. LeBeau crouched beside him, scanning the area, his gun drawn and ready.

"This is silly," LeBeau declared after a moment or two of silence. "Why are we taking him back to camp? We should find the road and go into town! We are dressed as Germans."

"Are you daft?" Newkirk hissed. "The way he is? What'll happen when he comes to and starts going off in English? They'll shoot him and us as spies, that's what!"

"Well what else can we do with him?!" LeBeau hissed. "He will not last long at camp! He needs a doctor." He looked down at Carter's back and quickly turned away, feeling light headed and dizzy. He never could stand the sight of blood. It was a miracle that he hadn't passed out yet. "I thought London was not sending bombers!"

"They bloody well lied! Either them or the colonel!"

"Why would the colonel lie about that?" Carter asked with a groan, startling his companions who had thought he was unconscious.

"You okay, Andrew?" Newkirk asked softly.

"Fine," came the tight reply. He suddenly tensed and grabbed a fistful of dirt, clenching his eyes shut and gritting his teeth against the pain.

"What do you think, Carter?" LeBeau asked, trying not to look at the other saboteur. "We can take you into town and a hospital."

With some effort, Carter shook his head. "Newkirk's right. I'd come to and start off in English." His voice shook and his breathing was a series of short, harsh pants. "You guys okay?"

"Just a nick," Newkirk lied, feeling the blood oozing between his fingers where he was grabbing his arm.

"Just bruises," LeBeau added truthfully, almost hating himself for having such an answer. He dared a glance at Carter before turning his attention to Newkirk. "Will Wilson…"

"The colonel will think of something," Newkirk replied. "But first we've got to get home." He took a deep breath and tried to get up. A wave a nausea hit him as the world spun out of control and he fell back against the tree.

"Newkirk?" LeBeau asked, reaching a hand out to steady him.

Newkirk waved him away. "I'm all right mate." He had to be. Carter was too heavy for LeBeau to carry and there was no way the sergeant could make it on his own. Heck, there was no way Carter could stand, even with help. Newkirk's second attempt to rise was more successful. "You ready, Andrew?"

"I think so… You don't have to carry me, I can walk." His whole body cringed at the thought but part of him felt silly for having to be carried.

"Sod off. Help me out, would you LeBeau?"

Taking a deep breath, LeBeau nodded and turned his attention to Carter. With a bit of effort, they managed to turn Carter onto his back, which elicited a cry of pain, and get him onto Newkirk's shoulder. He could feel the blood on his hands and willed himself not to look but he did. His stomach rolled, and his head spun and before he could stop himself, LeBeau dropped in a dead faint.

Newkirk cursed under his breath. "LeBeau, you ruddy git," he growled. "Now's not the time to pass out on me!" He instantly regretted saying it. After all, LeBeau had said he wasn't hurt, but what if he had been lying? He could very well be dying this very moment. Newkirk resisted the urge to kneel beside his friend and check him over. If he got down now, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get up again, especially with Carter over his shoulder.

"What happened?" Carter slurred, trying to move his head enough to see LeBeau.

"We've had it," Newkirk groaned. "I can't bloody well carry both of you!"

"I said I could walk," Carter insisted, making a feeble attempt to push himself off Newkirk's shoulder.

"And I told you to sod off. Now hold still. I'll think of something." Right. Their situation was rather dismal. They needed a miracle to get out of this. Newkirk growled in frustration, his exhausted brain trying to come up with a solution.

"Newkirk?"

Newkirk's heart crashed into his chest at the voice. It took a minute for him to realize that the voice was familiar. "Kinch? Kinch, that you?"

A moment later, Kinch staggered into view and came to a rest, putting his hand out to catch himself on a tree. He hung his head as he tried to catch his breath. "Yeah. You guys... You guys okay?"

"About as good as you," Newkirk said, noting the dark stain on Kinch's ripped pant leg. "What happened?"

"I tried to get to you faster. London radioed. They told me about the air raid. Couldn't stop it. I went out to try and stop you guys but…" His voice trailed off. "I'm sorry." Taking another deep breath, Kinch raised his head and looked at the other three men. "Carter? LeBeau?"

"Carter's bad. I don't-"

"Fine," Carter interrupted. "Kinch, that you?"

"Yeah, it's me, Carter. What about LeBeau?"

"Don't know," Newkirk answered, ignoring Carter. "Just up and fainted."

Kinch grimaced and pushed himself away from the tree. He stumbled and fell clumsily at LeBeau's side. Carefully, he inspected the Frenchman for injuries. "He looks okay," he finally decided. He shook LeBeau a little and lightly smacked his cheeks a few times. "Out cold. We'll have to carry him back to camp."

Newkirk snorted. "Who? You?"

"If you can carry Carter, I can carry LeBeau."

"I can walk."

"Shut up, you," Newkirk ordered. "All right Kinch, let's go."

Kinch nodded and scooped LeBeau into his arms. The tiny corporal didn't weigh much but Kinch still had to struggle to stand and nearly fell when he started walking.

All in all, the four made a rather pathetic sight as they slowly made their way back to Stalag 13.


	5. Win-Win Situations

Worry and rage battled each other for Hogan's attention. At the moment, the worry for his men was barely winning as he pushed through the now relatively quiet forest. But he knew as soon as he found them and got back to Stalag 13 his anger at London would take over.

An air raid? What had they been thinking?! He had told them he would blow up the factory! Hogan had half a mind to take a trip to London for the express purpose of strangling whoever had thought of that.

With a tiny growl, Hogan pushed thoughts of London's idiocy aside. He had more important things the think about at the moment.

Where were they? Were they dead? At that thought, Hogan picked up his pace, sacrificing a little stealth for speed. In fact, he was so intent on getting to the factory and his men that he missed Olsen stopping behind him.

"Sir," Olsen whispered, grabbing Hogan's shoulder causing the officer to stop. Hogan gave him a questioning look. "I thought I heard something over there." Olsen pointed to his left. It took a moment, but soon, the sound of heavy, slow footsteps met Hogan's ears. "German patrol, you think?"

Hogan shook his head as he lowered himself to the ground. In fact, he had a dreadful feeling that it wasn't. He could just imagine those agonizingly slow steps belonging to one of his men- injured and stumbling his way back to camp.

It didn't take long for Hogan's imagination to become reality. Through the darkness, he could make out Kinch and Newkirk staggering under the weight of his two other men.

Well, at least now he knew where they all were. It would be cold comfort if it turned out that half of them were dead.

"Newkirk, Kinch!" Hogan called quietly. Both men stopped, looking surprised.

"Colonel?"

"You guys all right?" Olsen asked as he and the colonel raced up to them. Immediately, he took LeBeau from Kinch who sagged in relief and leaned against the other sergeant. Olsen was a little surprised, but quickly shifted his weight to support the larger man as well. "Kinch?"

"Leg," Kinch muttered. "Don't know about LeBeau; he's out cold."

"What happened?" Hogan demanded as he tried to take Carter from Newkirk. The question went unanswered as Newkirk suddenly tried to push the colonel away. "Newkirk? What are you-"

"I can carry him, " Newkirk insisted, hitting Hogan's shoulder again.

"Look, I admire your determination, but don't be an idiot. You're dead on your feet."

Newkirk's head shot up and his eyes met Hogan's. "Maybe because you sent us out in a bloody air raid!"

"Newkirk, I told you the message came after you guys left and the colonel was with Klink and Burkhalter. He had no idea," Kinch insisted.

Newkirk just growled. It was true; Kinch had told him. But he was angry and at the moment, it was easier to blame his commanding officer than London. "I'll take him."

Hogan was about to protest when Carter let out a quiet, shaky laugh. "S-sod… sod off, Newkirk," he said slowly. "Better… better take me, Colonel, be-before he drops me."

Hogan raised an eyebrow, looking at Newkirk expectantly. With a grunt of defeat, Newkirk shifted his burden to the officer. Hogan grunted under the weight but that was the extent of his complaining. After all, Newkirk had carried Carter for miles. "Come on," he ordered, starting back towards camp. "Kinch, what happened?" he asked again.

Kinch, who was now paired up with Newkirk, the two of them barely holding each other up, took a few deep breaths before explaining about the radio message. Hogan clenched his fist, now determined that Papa Bear would be paying London an unpleasant visit soon.

"Newkirk?"

"Mmm? Oh, not sure guv'. Bit foggy. I remember we had set the explosives. Almost cleared the factory before the raid started. I don't think our bombs even went off." Newkirk clenched his fist and shook, though Hogan wasn't sure if it was from pain or anger. "What were they thinking? An air raid?"

"I don't know. But I'm going to find out," Hogan swore, a dangerous tone in his voice. "But right now, let's get you home. Wilson'll have his hands full tonight." He hoped the medic was up to the task.

Their trip back was a painfully slow task. Newkirk and Kinch lagged behind, causing Hogan and Olsen to slow their pace. To make matters worse, now that the air raid was safely in the past, German patrols were starting their rounds again. More than once the little troop had to stop and wait for a patrol to pass. Each time they stopped, it became harder for Newkirk and Kinch to get going again.

Finally, Newkirk stumbled and fell to the ground, taking Kinch with him.

"You guys gonna make it?" Hogan asked, stopping and moving back to them.

Holding his head in his hand, Newkirk carefully shook his head. "Better get Carter and LeBeau back, sir. Come back for us."

It was probably a good idea, Hogan thought. He and Olsen could make it to camp two times over- carrying dead weight- in the amount of time it would take all them if they went together as they had been. But still, the idea of leaving Kinch and Newkirk alone the way they were made Hogan hesitate. Finally, Hogan shook his head. He wasn't going to leave his injured men alone in a forest teaming with patrols.

"No can do."

"Maybe," Kinch began. He stopped to catch his breath before continuing. "Maybe we ought to let a patrol catch us," he suggested. "We can say we tried to escape during the confusion of the air raid and got caught in it."

Again, Hogan shook his head. "Carter, LeBeau and Newkirk are in German uniforms. With all the sabotage lately and the way things are going with the war, the Germans are more likely to shoot them as spies than send them back to camp."

"Sir, I don't think we can-"

"Yeah, you can," Hogan said, cutting Newkirk off. With a grunt, he shifted Carter's weight and crouched down, grabbing Newkirk's arm. "Up you go." Slowly, he straightened, bringing Newkirk to his feet. "Lean against me."

The new arrangement didn't really improve their pace- in fact, it may have slowed them down- but now they all kept moving. By the time they reached the camp, Hogan was staggering like a drunkard under the weight of two men.

Getting down into the tunnel was probably the most awkward part of their journey. But they made it in without getting caught by the tower guards and that was enough to satisfy Hogan.

The home stretch always seemed the longest. When they finally reached the radio room, Newkirk let go of Hogan and fell to the ground. With a sigh, he flopped his head back against the dirt wall and closed his eyes. Set up against the same wall were a few cots that were used for transient prisoners. Olsen made his way up to them and let Kinch fall onto one before setting LeBeau down on another. "I'll go get Wilson," he offered. Hogan nodded and he carefully slipped Carter off his shoulder and onto the last cot.

It wasn't until he was free from all the extra weight that Hogan realized his arms and legs were killing him. Shaking his head, he ignored his own discomfort and took a step back to examine his men. In the dim light of the tunnel, they looked even worse. Kinch muttered softly to himself as he gingerly tore at his pant leg. He and Hogan both winced at the gashes in his leg.

"Newkirk!" Hogan snapped when he turned his attention to him. The Englishman had been dozing but sat up straight when Hogan yelled.

"Colonel? What-"

Hogan knelt down beside him and grabbed his hand, moving it away from his head. "That's a nasty bump, Newkirk," Hogan said, his hand hovering over the large mark near Newkirk's temple. "Probably have a concussion, which means you've gotta stay awake." Newkirk groaned in protest but Hogan held up a hand to stop him. "Who's the Prime Minister of England?"

"Winston Churchill," Newkirk answered sourly. "I'm fine sir. Just need a nap."

"Don't think so, Newkirk. At least not until Wilson looks that over."

Newkirk growled and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm fine. What about LeBeau and Carter?"

Hogan bit his lip as he got up and looked at the two unconscious men. He didn't even want to touch Carter again until Wilson was there. He was bad off, he could tell, but Hogan was a little more worried about LeBeau. The little Frenchman had been unconscious when Hogan had found the others and Kinch had told him he had been out the whole time. Maybe he was already dead.

Wincing, as if afraid of what would happen, Hogan knelt beside LeBeau's cot and gently poked him. He didn't move. "LeBeau? LeBeau, you still alive?" Hogan asked, poking him again. LeBeau groaned but did nothing else. It was enough to ease Hogan's mind just a little.

"Holy." Hogan looked over his shoulder to see Wilson jumping down from the ladder, Olsen coming down right behind him. "What the…" Wilson's surprised turned into frustration and he growled. Finally he sighed in defeat. "All right, who's first?"

"Carter," Hogan ordered. Wilson nodded and made his way up to the sergeant. A sour expression crossed his face as he looked over the damage. Hogan turned away as he started cutting apart Carter's jacket. "Newkirk," he yelled, his gaze having been turned to Newkirk. "Wake up."

"I'm awake, I'm awake. Stop your nattering… sir." He fixed a hard stare on Hogan but the colonel wasn't fazed one bit.

"What's the year?"

"Nineteen flippin' forty four!" Newkirk answered with a growl. Before Hogan could get off another question, Newkirk looked over at Kinch. "You okay, Kinch?"

Kinch grimaced but nodded. "Won't be dancing anytime soon. Feels better now that I'm not walking on it."

Suddenly from his bunk, LeBeau let out a groan and slowly opened his eyes. Holding his head, he sat himself up and looked around. "Que? Où?"

"LeBeau? You all right?" Hogan asked, coming beside him.

LeBeau shook his head to clear it and looked up at him. "I think so."

"You hurt?"

LeBeau checked himself over. "Bruised," he finally reported.

"So why were-"

"I don't know, I just-" As LeBeau tried to explain himself, his eyes fell on Kinch's leg. He paled considerably and without another word, his eyes rolled into his head and he passed out.

"Oh for the love of-" Newkirk cut himself off with a growl. "He just fainted at the sight of blood. The bloody git wasn't hurt at all. All that worry, all that… We carried him that whole way just because-"

"Enough," Hogan ordered, not wanting Newkirk to work himself into a frenzy. He shook LeBeau with a little more force than perhaps he should have. This time, LeBeau woke up and began to look around before Hogan grabbed his jaw and held his gaze. "No, don't look. You sure you're okay, LeBeau?"

"Yes, mon colonel, I just-"

"Good. Get changed and get up top. Keep an eye out for Schultz or something."

LeBeau nodded. Keeping his eyes firmly planted on his shoes, he got up and hurried away. Hogan sighed and pulled Newkirk up before helping him into the now vacant cot.

"Sir?"

"Yeah, Wilson?"

Leaving Carter, Wilson came up to Hogan and pulled him aside. "I don't know what you expect me to do. He needs a doctor, not a field medic- out of practice or not."

Hogan looked back at Carter and quickly turned away. "All right, so he needs a doctor. What do you suggest? We could take him back out of the tunnel and let the Germans find him. We'd have to change him back into his uniform but-"

Wilson shook his head. "I don't think we ought to move him too much. You're going to have to bring a doctor to him."

Hogan furrowed his brow in thought. The closest thing to a doctor in the Underground was Oskar Schnitzer, the veterinarian. And though Carter could sometimes act like a lost puppy, he would probably need an actual doctor. "All right, we'll snatch a doctor from Hammelburg. I'm going to-" Wilson made a wary noise, cutting him off. "What? It's not like we haven't kidnapped people before."

"I know that sir but… I would get a doctor dropped from London. A Kraut might just write him off or purposely-"

"I'm not calling London, Wilson," Hogan said stubbornly. With their luck, London would probably drop the doctor right in the midst of a patrol. Provided that they even got around to sending one to begin with. Of course that wasn't the only reason Hogan rejected the thought. Though he knew he should've felt ashamed for letting his pettiness interfere with the safety of one of his men, he didn't want London's help because if they pulled through, he would have to forgive them for starting all the trouble to begin with. "Besides, I'm sure we can persuade a Kraut to do the job." To illustrate what he meant, he shaped his hand into a gun.

Wilson still seemed a little hesitant. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers. "Hold it."

"What?"

"You remember when Burkhalter twisted his ankle? Well, a truck came into the compound to get out of the air raid. It was a prisoner transport. One of 'em was a doctor." Wilson searched his memory. "Potter was his name. On his way to Oflag 18."

Kinch perked up. "That's only about an hour away, sir."

Hogan's lips twitched as he considered and rejected the idea all in one stroke. "Can't just bust a prisoner out of another camp."

"It's not much harder to bust out a prisoner than kidnap a doctor," Olsen reasoned. "And when he's done, we can get him back home. A win-win situation if you ask me."

At the moment, Hogan would've considered kidnapping a Kraut and then disposing of him afterwards as a win-win situation too, with the added bonus of not having to talk to London about getting a prisoner back to Allied lines. "All right," he finally agreed. "We'll get this Potter out of Oflag 18." He checked his watch. "We've got an hour and a half 'til roll call. Wilson, you think you can patch Newkirk and Kinch up before then?"

Wilson cast a doubtful glance at the others but nodded. "Won't be perfect."

"Don't worry about that. Just good enough so they can stand in line for roll call."

"Right."

Hogan nodded and moved to the ladder. "Newkirk," he barked as he grabbed hold of it.

"What?"

He couldn't help the tiny smile that played on his lips. "Newkirk, recite the alphabet… Backwards!"


	6. Preparations

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it couldn't have been long. The truck made a series of short stops and starts before stopping for good. When the flap at the back was finally lifted, it was still dark out.

Three guards came into view, their weapons aimed at their new prisoners. The Germans who had been riding in the back jumped out and joined them.

"Raus!" one guard ordered. The prisoners looked at each other before slowly hopping out of the truck. They were met with a rather strange sight. All around the compound, prisoners, under the watchful eye of armed guards, were picking up trash, painting huts and otherwise sprucing up the camp.

"What in the Sam Hill is going on here?" Potter whispered to the prisoner beside him. "It must only be 0100 in the blessed AM."

All the new arrivals were quickly lined up. Potter had been hoping that on arrival, he would soon be settled in an uncomfortable cot where he could catch a few winks of sleep. What were they waiting for anyway?

The answer came soon enough when the gates opened and a tall, bulky man with a swaggering step entered the compound. He approached the prisoners and walked up and down their ranks, inspecting them with a rather unimpressed look. Finally, he stopped and stood in front of the group. "Prisoners, I am Kommandant Ruebel. Welcome to Oflag 18. You will be here for the remainder of the war. Forget your thoughts of escape; it is impossible." He paused an gestured to the activity around them. "Tomorrow, we are expecting an inspection by General Burkhalter. As soon as my men finish processing you, you will be required to help with our efforts to prepare for the inspection."

"Officers aren't required to-" someone started but Kommandant Ruebel cut him off by stamping his foot on the ground.

"Anyone who objects will spend their first month here in solitary confinement," Ruebel threatened. When the objector remained silent, Ruebel nodded in satisfaction and turned on his heel. "Roll call is at 0600. After that, there will be an hour or so before the General arrives. You can sleep then," he said over his shoulder before making his way out of the compound.

The prisoners grumbled amongst themselves as they followed the German guards to be processed.

* * *

For the hundredth time in the last hour, Hogan checked his watch. Less than half an hour to roll call. Less than half an hour to get everything ready.

"Olsen," Hogan said, causing Olsen to sit up straight on his bunk.

"Sir?"

"Start on a set of orders. General Burkhalter is going to request for that doctor to come back to Stalag 13 and we're going to pick him up." Olsen nodded, jumped off his bunk and made his way down the tunnel entrance. "LeBeau," Hogan continued, "go to the motor pool. Put in two German uniforms, one for me, one for Olsen."

LeBeau looked a little put out. "What about me, mon colonel? Am I not coming with you?"

Hogan arched an eyebrow and looked at LeBeau sceptically. "No."

"No? But I-" The look on Hogan's face effectively killed his argument. With a nod, LeBeau scurried down the ladder.

Letting out a sigh, Hogan sat on the edge of Carter's bunk, his head in his hands. He wasn't quite sure why he was mad at LeBeau, but he was. The Frenchman had let down the team tonight and had made their trip back to Stalag 13 that much more difficult and dangerous.

Hogan suddenly tensed, feeling the eyes of the rest of his men on him. Standing up, he looked about the room. "Look at this place. It's too neat for a place that's just been rocked by an air raid." Without another word, Hogan swept his arm across the tabletop, knocking everything on it onto the floor. His men blinked in confusion but quickly caught on to what he meant and started to follow his example, taking their belongings off their shelves and throwing them on the floor.

"Much better," Hogan said finally as he observed the damage. "Fuller, crack that bench in two." The young private looked confused but went to work anyway. Satisfied, Hogan checked his watch once more. Twenty minutes. Where were Kinch and Newkirk? Was Wilson finished with them yet?

Leaving his men to their destruction, Hogan clambered down the ladder and made his way into the tunnels. When he reached the radio room, he saw Newkirk hovering over Carter's cot as Wilson bandaged Kinch's leg. "How goes it?" Hogan asked.

"Almost done, Colonel," Wilson reported. "You working on getting that doctor?"

Hogan nodded. "I'll have him here before noon."

"Good."

"Newkirk?"

"Winston Churchill, 1944, ZYXWVUTS- would you like me to keep going?"

"He's got a concussion, sir," Wilson reported before Hogan could say anything. "But it's not too bad. I'd let him sleep after roll call, but make sure he's woken up every two hours or so to make sure he hasn't gotten worse."

"Right. You all ready to go up top?" Hogan asked.

"You think one of us should stay down here with Carter?"

Hogan shook his head. "Roll call will take twenty minutes, top. He'll be fine for that long." He caught Wilson's hesitant look but ignored it. "All right, let's go."

Grabbing Kinch's hand, Hogan helped the sergeant to his feet. Kinch leaned against Hogan and the two of them made their way back to the ladder.

Olsen and LeBeau were already up top when Hogan, Newkirk and Kinch got up. The tunnel entrance was barely shut, and Kinch was easing himself into his bunk when Schultz burst into the barracks. "Roll call, roll call!" he announced in a booming voice. The prisoners replied with groans of protest and someone even threw his pillow at the intruder. Schultz caught it and looked at it, not quite sure what to do with it. He ended up dropping it on the floor in surprise as he glanced about the room. The room was a mess. Objects littered the ground, apparently having been knocked off the tiny shelves on the walls. Most startling was that the bench on one side of the common room table was broken in two. "What, what, what is all this?" Schultz demanded. "You-" he shook his finger at the prisoners- "are worse than my children! How could you make such a mess?"

"All right, all right, pipe down, Schultz," Hogan said as he stepped out of his office and into the common room.

"Colonel Hogan, what happened in here?"

"Wild party," Hogan quipped, finding a sense of normalcy in making jokes. Schultz furrowed his brow and was about to lecture the colonel when Hogan held up a hand. "Relax Schultz. If we had had a party, we would've invited you. That air raid last night did this. Knocked the socks off us. Poor Newkirk fell right off his bunk and landed on that bench," Hogan explained, pointing to the broken bench.

Schultz seemed a little surprise. "Are you all right, Newkirk?"

"Landed on me arm, hit me head," Newkirk replied, gingerly pointing to the bump on his head.

Schultz clicked his tongue. "Oh that is very bad. Those bombers were too close. Someone should tell them there is a prisoner camp here!"

"Don't worry, Schultz, someone is going to," Hogan promised. Before Schultz could ask how he could know that, Hogan moved past him and opened the door. "All right men, fall out for roll call. Raus, raus, raus."

Every man slowly got out of his bunk, each complaining about some bump or bruise they received in the air raid- whether the injuries were real or not- and filed past Schultz. Schultz counted them as they went past. As Hogan made his way out, Schultz grabbed him, his face contorted in panic. "Colonel Hogan! Colonel Hogan, there are only fourteen prisoners! Colonel Hogan, there are supposed to be fifteen prisoners!"

"Really? Huh, imagine that!"

"Colonel Hogan, this is no time for games. There is one prisoner missing!"

"Are you sure you counted us all, Schultz?" Hogan asked. "Better count us again outside, just in case you missed someone." Of course, Hogan already knew there was a prisoner missing- Carter was still down in the tunnels- but he made his way into the line and stood as if nothing were wrong. Schultz walked up and down the line, counting the prisoners and then counting them again when the number didn't add up to fifteen. Finally, he flapped his arms in the air and let out a little whimper.

"Only fourteen. Oh, I must report this to the Kommandant!"

On cue, Klink came out of his office. He stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, inspecting the compound, before he marched down and made his way to Schultz. "REPOOOOOOOOOOORT!"

Schultz turned neatly on his heel and offered a salute. "Herr Kommandant, I beg to report that there is a prisoner missing."

Klink's face fell in shock. "Schultz, what do you mean there is a prisoner missing?! No one escapes Stalag 13, no one!"

"But Herr Kommandant, there are only fourteen men here. There are supposed to be fifteen!"

Klink scowled and came in front of Hogan. "What do you know about this, Hogan?" he asked, taking off his monocle and tapping it in the air. Hogan shrugged. "I warn you, Hogan, we have ways of making you talk."

Hogan looked sufficiently cowed and held his hands up. "Sergeant Carter went out last night, sir. The air raid was a perfect distraction. And speaking of the air raid, how is General Burkhalter?"

"The general left after the raid and-" Klink suddenly stopped and stamped his foot on the ground. "Don't try and change the subject! Schultz, sound the alarm, let loose the dogs."

"Hold it, Kommandant," Hogan said, stopping Schultz in his tracks. "It'll never work. Carter has too much a head start. You'll never find him."

"We'll see about that. Schultz!"

"All right, if that's the way you want it. But you'll never find him. And when your men finally give up and you come crawling to me for help, it just might be too late and then your perfect record will go up in flames and you might just get sent to the Russian front," Hogan said, so matter-of-factly that Klink had no choice but to believe him.

"Are you saying you can find Carter?" Klink asked suspiciously.

"I'll have better luck than your men."

"It is just an excuse to escape."

Hogan looked hurt. "I give you my word as an officer and a gentleman I won't try and escape."

"Very well," Klink finally agreed. "Schultz, get a truck. Take Hogan out to search for Carter. But, Hogan, I warn you, if you try anything funny-"

"Permission to bring Sergeant Olsen along too," Hogan interrupted. "Two heads are better than one, you know."

"You will have Schultz with you," Klink argued.

"All right then. Two and a half heads are better than one."

"Thank-you, Colonel Hogan!" Schultz said but when he realized what Hogan had said, his smile faded into a confused frown.

Klink just rolled his eyes and gave a longsuffering look to Hogan, who grinned and rocked slightly on his heels. "What do you say, Kommandant? Time's a wasting."

"Fine," Klink said, a sour expression on his face. "But Hogan, if you do not bring Cater _and_ Olsen back, you will spend the rest of the war in the cooler!"

"Okay. If I don't bring them both back, it's a week in the cooler."

Klink stamped his foot. "Schultz, get a truck. Take Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Olsen and bring back Carter!" And with that, Klink turned around and stomped back to his office.

Hogan fired off a salute at the retreating Kommandant and turned to Olsen. "Got the orders?" Olsen nodded. "Uniforms in the truck?" Another nod. "Good. Let's go then. I hope this doctor doesn't mind making stalag calls."


	7. Your Doctor or Your Life

As usual, Hogan drove. Olsen sat beside him, diligently eyeing the woods along the road for any sign of Carter. Schultz had his focus and his rifle aimed at the prisoners, trying to look as fierce as possible. However, the façade faded not long after they rolled out the front gates. Then, Schultz sat back, tipped his hat back and enjoyed the ride.

It took him half an hour to realize something was out of place.

"Colonel Hogan?"

"Yes Schultz?" Hogan asked, glancing at Schultz from the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the road.

"Colonel Hogan, we are looking for Carter?"

"That was the plan," Hogan acknowledged.

Schultz screwed up his face in thought. "But Colonel Hogan, if we are looking for Carter, shouldn't we be heading west?"

"Now why would we do that?" Hogan asked with a tiny grin.

"Because, that's where the Allies are!"

"West, schmest. Any direction we go, we'll eventually run into Allied lines! We're advancing every which way."

"Colonel Hogan, don't say such things! You can't know such things!" He paused and looked at Hogan worriedly. "Colonel Hogan, how do you know such things?"

Hogan shrugged. "Common knowledge Schultz."

Schultz decided not to press his luck on the subject and went back to his original concern. "But Colonel Hogan, Carter will be heading to England."

"Now why would Carter head for England? He doesn't know a crumpet from a trumpet!"

"But where else would he be going?" Schultz asked.

"I hear Switzerland's nice this time of year. Or how about the Russian front? I hear Carter's very fond of borscht."

"Colonel Hogan, puh-leeze, stop joking!" When he saw Hogan wasn't going to say anything else, Schultz let out a pathetic sigh. "If we go this way, we will find Carter, won't we?"

Hogan looked at Olsen and shrugged. "You can always hope, Schultz."

"Only hope?" Schultz said sorrowfully.

"Hey, Carter's a wily one." Schultz chuckled as if it was the stupidest thing he had ever heard. "Well after all, he did manage to escape while you were on duty."

Schultz screwed up his face as he thought about it. "You're right," he drawled. "He is smart!"

"Colonel, look over there," Olsen said, interrupting the two. He pointed down the road to a little clearing in the trees where a dilapidated farmhouse and barn sat. "I think Carter mentioned something about a barn in his escape plan. You think we ought to check it out?"

"Good plan," Hogan agreed with a nod. When the reached the barn, Hogan pulled the truck to the side of the road. "Bet he's in there Schultz. Let's go get him."

"Right," Schultz barked. Sliding out of the truck, Schultz made his way towards the barn, his rifle at the ready. Suddenly, he stopped, feeling he was alone. He turned just in time to see Colonel Hogan pull the truck back onto the road and drive off. Schultz tried to run after it but stopped after only a few feet and bent over, his hands on his knees, as he tried to catch his breath. "Colonel Hogan! Colonel Hogan!" he called between deep breaths. But the truck was already around the bend. Schultz growled and threw his rifle down. With a sigh, he picked it back up again and looked around. Well, there was nothing to do now but wait for Hogan to pick him back up. And Schultz knew he would. He always did.

* * *

"Poor Schultz. You'd think he be used to it by now," Olsen mused with a smile.

"He'll get over it," Hogan said. "How far to Oflag 18?"

"'Bout twenty more minutes, Colonel," Olsen reported.

Half way to the camp, Hogan stopped the truck at the side of the road. Both prisoners hopped out and went into the back of the truck where two German uniforms were waiting. "Got the orders?" Hogan asked as he changed uniforms.

"Right here," Olsen said as he grabbed the papers from his jacket and handed them to the colonel. Hogan took them and put them in his pocket.

"Ready?"

"Jawhol!" Olsen said, snapping off a salute. He hopped out of the truck and when he landed, clicked his heels for good measures.

Hogan rolled his eyes. "You drive… Corporal."

Olsen ignored the jab and jumped behind the steering wheel. "You got this all figured out yet?"

"More or less."

"Should be a piece of cake then."

They sat in silence for the rest of the trip. Soon enough, they were approaching Oflag 18. It was much different than Stalag 13. The fences were higher and there were more guards roaming the compound. Perhaps the biggest difference was that the Kommandant's office and most of the other German buildings were outside the main compound. Olsen stopped the truck in front of the Kommandant's office. Jumping out of the cab, he ran to the other side and helped Hogan out. Hogan straightened himself just as one of the camp's guards came up to him.

"Sergeant," Hogan said, greeting the guard, "I am Captain Keller. I need to speak with your Kommandant right away about one of his prisoners."

"Of course, Herr Keller," the guard said with a nod. "This way." He led Olsen and Hogan up the steps and into the building. The interior was not unlike Stalag 13. Except, sitting behind the desk in the outer office was an old, rather ugly secretary. Hogan shuddered.

The guard went up to the secretary and explained who Hogan was. The secretary scowled. "The Kommandant is busy."

"I'm afraid it's quite important," Hogan said. "I have orders from General Burkhalter."

Her scowl deepened, but the secretary nodded and stood. Knocking beforehand, she opened Kommandant's office door and poked her head into the room. She nodded and turned back to Hogan. "Go in."

"Thank-you," Hogan said with a brilliant smile and a tip of his hat. He couldn't help but feel a little miffed when she ignored him.

With a shrug, Olsen moved aside and let Hogan in first. In the office, they were met by the sight of a rather large man in an army uniform pacing the room and smoking a pipe. The man stopped when the two entered and looked at them expectantly.

"Kommandant," Hogan greeted, offering a salute. "I am Captain Keller."

"Colonel Ruebel," the Kommandant replied, returning Hogan's salute. "To what do I owe this visit, Captain?" Ruebel asked, taking a seat behind his desk.

Hogan fished the orders from his pocket and handed them to Ruebel. "Last night, you received a new batch of prisoners. Among them was a doctor- Lieutenant Colonel Potter," Hogan recited, watching as Ruebel looked over the orders.

"It says here he treated General Burkhalter for a sprained ankle," Ruebel said before looking up at Hogan rather suspiciously. "And?"

"The General's ankle is broken. This prisoner intentionally misdiagnosed and treated the general. You can imagine how angry the general is at this prisoner's impudence."

Ruebel's chair scrapped across the floor as he pushed away from his desk and stood up. "So the general is feeling spiteful? That does not bode well when he comes to visit me this afternoon for his inspection. I wonder why he did not wait until then to meet with this prisoner."

If Hogan looked as surprised as he felt, he was in awful trouble. The news caught him completely off-guard. But years of being a spy behind enemy lines had taught him how to keep a good poker face. So, instead of panicking, Hogan simply raised an eyebrow. "I was informed this morning that General Burkhalter is cancelling all his trips until he recovers."

Giving Hogan another suspicious look, Ruebel grabbed the phone on his desk. "Since I have been told no such thing, I will call General Burkhalter's headquarters."

Olsen jammed a hand into his pocket to hide the fist he had made and cast a glance at Hogan. Hogan remained impassive as he watched Ruebel. "Frau Klein? Get me General Burkhalter's headquarters." Ruebel held Hogan's gaze until the line connected. "Yes, hello. Is General Burkhalter in? No? Oh, yes, I see. Thank-you."

With a triumphant grin, Ruebel set the phone on its cradle. "Well, Captain Keller, despite his sprained ankle, General Burkhalter is-" Ruebel's voice died when he saw the pistols Hogan and Olsen were aiming at him.

"All right, hold it right there Kommandant," Hogan said evenly. "Hands. Up."

Slowly, Ruebel raised his hands. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I've already told you both. Captain Keller. And I'm here for Colonel Potter."

"Why?"

Growing impatient, Hogan rolled his eyes and waved his gun. "Kommandant, I don't think you quite understand your situation here. I'm the one with the gun. You don't ask questions, you just do what I say. Now, pick up the phone."

With a dark scowl, Ruebel slowly grabbed the phone. "Am I allowed to ask why, Captain Keller?"

"Tell one of your guards to bring in Colonel Potter." As Ruebel gave the order through the phone, Hogan shot Olsen a dirty look. "Oh yeah- a piece of cake."


	8. Another Injury

It took far too much energy for Colonel Potter to hoist himself onto his top bunk. When he was up, he immediately fell into his mattress and shut his eyes. He was doggone tired. That Ruebel had kept them up all night and well into the morning to clean up the camp. Now all Potter wanted to do was sleep. He didn't even bother to take off his boots. Wouldn't be the first time he had gone to bed with them on.

He felt his bed shake as his roommate got into the lower bunk. The one good thing about being an officer was that the accommodations were slightly better. Instead of being stuck in a common room, with twenty or so other men squished together, Potter only had to share a room- albeit a very tiny room- with one other person. He wasn't sure of his name yet, but there would be plenty of time for that before the war ended.

Though he knew it was his duty, Potter really had no intention of escaping. He'd leave that to the younger fellows. Though he wasn't particularly old, he was still not young enough to be scampering about behind enemy lines.

No, he would sit this one out, trying to cause what trouble he could inside camp, rather than outside. It wasn't cowardice- it was common sense.

Potter shook the nagging thought that it was cowardice out of his head. He had faced danger more times than he could count. This wasn't his first war and it wouldn't be his last. There would be another day to fight.

The door to his room opened and he heard his roommate groan. "What do you want? We cleaned up the stupid camp; let us sleep!"

"Colonel Potter?"

Potter groaned and opened one eye, looking at the guard in the doorway. "So they tell me."

"Come."

Potter yawned. "Where?"

"Colonel Ruebel wants to see you."

Potter rolled his eyes but hopped down from his bunk and followed the guard out. What did Ruebel want? He hadn't personally met the Kommandant yet; maybe he wanted to give his duties as the camp's medical officer. From what he had gathered while cleaning, the only other medical personnel in camp was a medic- a young Lieutenant who had a record for trying to escape and spent more time in the cooler than the infirmary.

"This way," his escort said as they made their way out of the prisoner's compound and towards the Kommandant's office. In the outer office, an old, ugly secretary was typing away. She looked up when Potter and his guard came in and nodded.

The guard pushed the door to the Kommandant's office open and moved aside for Potter. When he entered, Potter was met by not only by Ruebel, but two other Germans- another officer and an enlisted man, Potter judged. Ruebel said something to the guard, who nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

"Colonel Potter?" Ruebel asked.

"Kommandant."

"These gentlemen are here for you."

Potter eyed them suspiciously. "What do they want me for?"

"That is something they have not even told me," Ruebel sneered. He turned to the other men and said something in German. They nodded and moved towards Potter. It was then he noticed that the enlisted man had a gun out. Potter was about to raise his hands when he saw the gun was not pointed at him, but Ruebel.

"What's going on here? I've heard of being marched out at gun point but I thought it was supposed to be aimed at the prisoner!"

"Captain Keller arrived without the proper paperwork to take you. He had to use other methods to obtain my permission for your release," Ruebel explained, glaring at the officer. He said something in German and the other officer nodded.

"Danke, Herr Kommandant," Captain Keller said, pulling out a gun and aiming it at Potter. "Corporal." The other man nodded and lifted his gun up. It came crashing down on Ruebel, who collapsed on the ground in a heap. With a tiny grunt, his assailant dragged him to the corner of the room.

"What is going-"

"Quiet," Keller ordered. "I'll explain later."

Potter blinked in surprise. The man didn't have a trace of a German accent. In fact, it was a very American accent. What was going on?!

Potter didn't have time to question. Keller opened the door and strolled out. He said something to the secretary, who simply nodded and went back to her typing. The corporal came up behind Potter and ushered him out. Once outside, Keller made his way to a truck and hopped in the driver's seat. The corporal steered Potter to the back of the truck.

Suddenly, the corporal stiffened and muttered something under his breath. Potter followed his gaze to a staff car that was pulling up to the camp.

"Get in," the corporal hissed, pushing Potter towards the bed of the truck. Potter stumbled forward but caught himself and stood his ground.

"Look, someone had better explain what is-"

"Now… sir," the corporal said, holding his gun up to Potter's face.

Potter was half-tempted to cry out to get the camp's attention. Better the devil he knew, after all. But the gun quickly changed his mind and he carefully raised his hands. "Easy with that thing, son. No need to get excited; I'm getting into the truck now."

"Good thinking." The corporal cast a glance at the staff car, which had just pulled up behind them, and jumped into the bed of the truck ahead of Potter. Potter reached his hand up and the corporal grabbed it, pulling him in. Moving to the front, his gun still aimed at Potter, the corporal moved back the flap of canvas separating the truck bed from the cab. "General Burkhalter just arrived, sir."

"Then let's get out of here," Keller growled. The truck shuddered as it started up. The corporal sucked in a breath. It was only after they had passed through the front gates and the camp had disappeared around a corner that he let it out.

"Colonel, how long do you think it'll take them before-"

The corporal was cut off when a siren filled the air.

"Not long," Keller shouted from the front. "Don't worry, we'll be long gone by the time they get organized."

"Sure. But they'll still be looking for us. And I'll bet they'll come to Stalag 13 eventually. That's where-"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. Right now, we've gotta get him to Carter."

Colonel Potter, who had been listening the conversation, was growing tired of being left in the dark. "All right, one of you had better fill me in on what's going on. Pronto!"

Letting go of the flap, the corporal turned to Potter and holstered his gun. "Sorry, sir but we had to wait until we got you out."

"Which we are," Potter pointed out.

"Name's Olsen," the corporal said with a grin. "United States Army Air Force."

Potter raised an eyebrow, now even more confused. Why were they coming for him? There was no way he was important enough to warrant a rescue operation. "All right Corporal Olsen, why did you break me out of my hotel?"

"Sergeant Olsen, sir," Olsen corrected. "And we busted you out to-"

Olsen was cut off by the sound of a shot filling the air. The truck suddenly swerved, and Potter heard Keller yell something. Looking out the back, he saw a motorcycle coming up behind them. The guard in the sidecar fired his rifle again. "Olsen!" Keller shouted from the front.

Before Potter could do anything, Olsen tackled him down and let off a shot. Potter squirmed beneath him and peered back at the road. The motorcycle swerved to the side of the road and crashed into the ditch. The guard in the sidecar crawled out from the wreckage and fired his gun again, but the truck was already pulling around another corner.

"You okay, Colonel?" Olsen asked.

"Fine," Potter muttered. "But you ought to warn a man, son, if you're going to-"

"Oh, sorry, not you. Colonel Hogan?"

"Nicked my shoulder," Keller- or Hogan- reported. Potter looked and saw a tear in the canvas that separated them from the driver. "No big deal. The doc all right?"

"Fine," Potter said. "But confused. So unless you want my boot print on your butt, you had better tell me what's going on!"

"We've got a man back at camp that needs your attention," Hogan explained.

"Back at camp? I don't understand. Last I checked, our boys were stalled in France. You going to drive me all the way there?"

"Stalag 13, Colonel," Olsen explained. "We're prisoners there."

"Prisoners?" Potter repeated, looking the young man over. "Things have sure changed since dubya-dubya one!"

Olsen chuckled. "Yes sir." Turning his attention to the front, he pulled back the canvas and let out a whistle. "Schultz is going to have a bird, Colonel!" he said, pointing to the bit of blood splattered on the window shield.

"It'll come out. Listen, we'll hide the truck near camp, get the doctor in and then go back for Schultz."

"You think there are more following us?"

"Probably," Hogan said. Suddenly, he made a hard turn to the right, causing Olsen and Potter to lose balance and fall. "Shortcut," Hogan explained.

"I'm still confused," Potter said as he brushed himself off and got back to his feet. "You're prisoners at another camp and you got me out because there's a prisoner that's sick? Why didn't you just-"

"It's a long story, Colonel," Olsen said apologetically.

Again, Potter looked Olsen over. This man, apparently a fellow POW, had just busted him out of one camp only to smuggle him into another camp? He turned to look at Hogan in the front of the German truck. His shoulder was bleeding a bit, but he didn't even seem to notice, instead focussing on the road with a grim look of determination.

Turning back to Olsen, Potter raised an eyebrow. "I'll bet it is."


	9. B Positive! It Could Be Worse!

Newkirk barely paid attention as Hogan gave Klink the old run around. He was too busy trying to stay upright. His arm ached and it felt like a herd of elephants was tap dancing on his brain. All he wanted to do was lay down in his bed and get some shuteye.

Finally Klink dismissed the formation and Newkirk let out a sigh of relief. Turning on his heel, he staggered towards the barracks. He nearly collapsed in the doorway, but grabbed the frame, keeping himself in a somewhat upright position. He didn't dare let go. The world swirled dangerously around him and he didn't think he could even make it to his bunk.

"Easy now," Wilson clucked, coming to Newkirk's rescue by grabbing his elbow and leading him inside. "Don't try and hoist yourself up to your bunk. Here." Wilson manoeuvred Newkirk into Carter's lower bunk. "Get some shut eye," he ordered.

"Thanks, mate," Newkirk muttered as he relaxed on the bed. Sleep, just what he needed. He had been trying to sleep since he had gotten back, but the colonel hadn't let him. But sleep was going to be hard to get, what with his pounding headache. Newkirk stifled a groan and buried his head into his pillow.

"Wake him up in an hour or two," Wilson ordered. Newkirk heard the trapdoor open and close a few moments later. Going down to check on Carter. Newkirk wanted to go with him, but knew it was impossible. Not until he had a nap, anyway.

The scope of his consciousness was narrowing and it wasn't long until the only thing Newkirk heard was the pounding in his own head. That was, until this door of the hut burst open and slammed shut, followed by stomping. Newkirk roused himself enough to see LeBeau come in and grab the coffee pot from the stove.

He went about ignoring the Frenchman. He knew LeBeau was upset about being passed over for Olsen, but he also knew he deserved it.

"Colonel Hogan should have taken me!" LeBeau said so loud that even Newkirk's pounding head couldn't block him out. "He cannot trust me now?! I have been here from the beginning! I have face danger more than once and lived through the Gestapo trying to make me tell about it! I can break a doctor out of a prison camp much better than anyone else!"

Newkirk had half a mind to tell LeBeau to bugger off, but he couldn't seem to find his way out of the fog that was swirling around his head. His last thought before finally drifting off was that LeBeau might just end up injured as well. How hard could it be to punch out someone a foot shorter than himself?

* * *

Even with everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours, Colonel Potter fell asleep not long after escaping Oflag 18. There had been plenty of times when he had been in crazier situations and had managed to fall asleep. In fact, this latest adventure was rather tame compared to some of the exploits of his youth.

Potter was vaguely aware that the truck had come to a stop. He didn't wake, however, until a hand landed on his shoulder and shook him.

"I'm awake," Potter yawned as he slowly got up. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Where are we?"

"Couple miles out from Stalag 13," Olsen answered. "We're bringing you in."

"It's broad daylight Olsen," Hogan said from the front. "We're going to have to be careful."

"Sure thing, Colonel," Olsen said. "You want me to be point? You can bring the doc up behind?"

"Go."

Olsen nodded and hopped out the back, only to be replaced by Colonel Hogan. Immediately, Potter was sizing up the other officer's shoulder. "Let me take a look at that, son."

Hogan just swatted Potter's hands away. "Later. Look, we have to get you into our tunnel under the camp. Right now, we're a couple miles away, but you can practically spit on the fence from the entrance. Just follow me and keep quiet, all right?"

Potter just nodded and followed Hogan out the back of the truck. He had the sneaking suspicion that Hogan didn't think he could make it the couple miles to camp. Granted, he hadn't had much sleep and it probably showed and yes, he wasn't as young and graceful as he once was but- dammit!- he was regular army! He could handle a five mile hike and then some!

Still, stealth wasn't something the cavalry taught very well. About two miles into their trip, Potter coughed causing Hogan to nearly jump out of his skin.

"You weren't kidding," Potter whispered when the trees cleared enough for the camp to show through. They were close all right. Instinctively, Potter crouched lower to the ground and moved behind Hogan.

Hogan motioned for Potter to stay put. He crept forward and stopped at a tree trunk. Potter watched in amazement as Hogan lifted the top of the trunk. After looking around, Hogan waved Potter over. As quietly as he could, Potter dodged to the tree trunk and lowered himself in. A moment later, Hogan followed and closed the trap, leaving the two officers in total darkness as they climbed down the ladder.

"Well I'll be damned," Potter breathed as he jumped off the ladder and looked around. The tunnel, lit by oil lamps, was tall and wide enough to fit a tank! "How long did it take you to dig this out?"

"Months," Hogan answered absently. "Come on, Carter's this way."

Hogan led him through the tunnel system until they reached a large room. In the middle sat a table with large electronic boxes. A radio, Potter guessed. Just what kind of an operation was this, that Hogan had radios and German trucks and uniforms?! Now, busting him out of a prison camp didn't seem so outrageous to Potter. Hogan certainly had the means to do that and probably more.

Potter didn't dwell on the scope of Hogan's operation for long. Instead, his attention quickly fell upon the cots against one of the walls. One cot, in particular. A man, Carter, lay on the cot, his face buried into the pillow while another sat on the cot next to him, gingerly pulling scraps of fabric from his back.

"I got him, Wilson," Hogan announced. The second man stopped his task and looked up. It took a moment for Potter to recognize him as the medic from the night before.

Wilson let out a sigh of relief. "Not a moment too soon, Colonel."

"How is he?" Hogan asked in alarm.

"Fine," a muffled voice said from the cot.

Hogan's mouth twitched into a small smile as he made his way over and put a gentle hand on Carter's shoulder. Carter let out a stifled groan and Hogan tore his hand away like he had just touched a hot stove. "Sorry, Carter. Listen, I brought a doctor. He's going to fix you up good as new. Just hold tight."

"Piece of pie," Carter mumbled.

"Ca- never mind. Colonel," Hogan beckoned Potter over.

Potter settled himself on the cot next to Carter and looked over his back. After a quick inspection, he got back up and moved to the side. As he'd hoped, Hogan and Wilson followed him. Olsen appeared out of a side room, now dressed in an American uniform, and joined them.

"I sure hope you don't expect me to operate on him down here," Potter said in a low voice as he glanced back at Carter.

"No choice," Wilson answered. "We can't move him. Can we?"

Potter quickly debated the merits of the idea and shook his head. Maybe if they didn't have to carry him out of a tunnel, they could. Damn. With all of Hogan's resources, why hadn't he just taken the man to a hospital. Surely he could've pulled that off. "No," he grudgingly admitted. "But these tunnels have a welcome mat out for infection. Germs are putting 'home sweet home' signs on the walls."

"We have some penicillin on hand, right Wilson?"

"Maybe," Wilson answered doubtfully.

Hogan frowned and looked over at the radio for a moment. He shook his head quickly and turned his attention back to Potter. "All right, we'll cross that bridge when we get there."

Potter grimaced, not feeling very reassured. "Instruments?"

"Olsen? Wilson?" Hogan asked.

"We'll find what we need, sir." Wilson turned to Potter. "I hope you don't mind improvising."

"Dandy," Potter muttered under his breath. "What about blood?"

"We have a whole camp full," Hogan stated. "What's his blood type?"

"B positive," Wilson informed them.

Hogan looked over at Carter, a wry smile on his lips. "Figures. Olsen, when we get back, round up some donors. All right Doctor, we'll find blood and instruments and whatever else you need. Can you do it?"

Potter looked around the tunnels, noted the dim light and scowled. Well, it could've been worse. He wasn't sure how, exactly, but it was possible. Finally, he nodded. This boy was going to have one hell of an infection though.

"Good. Wilson, start getting what you need. Come on, Olsen. We've got a Kraut to pick up."

"Better change first, Colonel," Olsen suggested.

"And let me patch up your shoulder," Potter added. He wasn't going to let Hogan get away so quickly. He could tell Hogan was stubborn as a mule, but so was he.

"I'm fine."

Potter was about to argue but Olsen got to it first. "Your shoulder's soaking through, Colonel. Even Klink won't miss that."

Hogan gave Olsen a pointed look, but finally nodded as he started taking off the German uniform. "Fine. But make it fast. Schultz probably thinks we left him for good this time."

"Two bucks says he's in the same place we left him," Olsen challenged, smiling broadly.

"Don't do it, Colonel," Carter croaked from his cot. "Schultz wouldn't go anywhere."

"He's right. No deal, Olsen."

"Well, at least Carter's thinking straight," Olsen said with a shrug. "That's a good sign, right doc?"

Potter managed a tight smile and nodded. For now anyway. He gave the dim tunnels one last look before grabbing an offered cloth from Wilson and starting on Hogan's shoulder.


	10. An Unnecessary Act of Heroism

If Hogan had been silly enough to go along with the bet, Olsen would've been two bucks richer. As the two prisoners pulled up to the old barn where they had left him, they found Schultz dozing off, cradling his rifle in his arms. Despite all the problems on his mind, Hogan found himself grinning. Good old Schultz.

Pulling the truck to the side of the road, Hogan and Olsen jumped out of the cab and made their way to the guard.

"Wake up, Schultz," Hogan said, lightly kicking Schultz's foot. Schultz woke up with a start and fumbled with his gun, trying to point it at his attacker. "Hold it Schultz, we're the good guys."

Schultz blinked and looked up. "Colonel Hogan," Schultz cried, a relieved smile crossing his face. Clearing his throat, he got to his feet and shook his finger at the prisoners. "Colonel Hogan, Olsen, where did you go?!" Hogan just shrugged. "Colonel Hogan, you cannot just steal a German truck and drive away! Colonel Klink will throw you in the cooler when he finds out!"

"How's he going to find out, Schultz?" Hogan asked. "I'm not going to tell him, Olsen's not going to tell him-"

Schultz pointed to himself with his thumb. "But I will!"

"All right, if that's the way you want it," Hogan sighed. "But how are you going to explain how two unarmed prisoners stole a truck from the best guard at Stalag 13- an armed guard at that." Schultz started to sputter and go red. "Schultz," Hogan drawled, "it's mighty cold on the Russian front this time of year."

"But at least you want have a long trip- it's getting closer everyday," Olsen added.

Schultz finally growled in defeat. "Colonel Hogan, I've decided not to tell Colonel Klink."

"Good. Let's go home."

"Right! Back in the truck, back, back, back!" Schultz barked, pointing his gun at Hogan and Olsen. All three men climbed into the cab and sped off towards Stalag 13.

"Colonel Hogan?"

"Present Schultz."

"Colonel Hogan, why are you going so fast? What is the hurry?" Schultz asked anxiously, looking in the side mirror as if he expected something behind them to blow up.

"I want to get my week in the cooler over with," Hogan answered nonchalantly. "The sooner we get there, the sooner I go in and the sooner I get out."

"Oh, I understa-" Schultz stopped mid-nod and looked at the colonel in horror. "A week in the cooler? What week in the cooler?! You would only go into the cooler if… if… Colonel Hogan, where is Carter? Didn't you get him?"

"What gave you that idea, Schultz?"

"What do you mean what gave me that idea?" Schultz cried, sounding panicked. "That's why we are here. That's why you took the truck without me!"

"What are you talking about, Schultz? We ditched you because we didn't want any more competition with the pretty frauleins at the hofbrau in town."

"You went to the hofbrau? You weren't looking for Carter?"

"Are you kidding?" Hogan scoffed. "That would mean even more competition."

"But-but Colonel Hogan, what about Carter? We have to find him before we go back to Stalag 13."

"Forget it Schultz," Hogan said offhandedly. "He's long gone by now."

Olsen clapped Schultz on the shoulder causing the larger man to look his way. "Long gone," he echoed.

"Kommandant Klink will throw you both in the cooler." The effect of the warning was undone by the pleading tone in Schultz's voice.

"He said he would throw me into the cooler till the end of the war," Hogan reminded him. "Come on Schultz, how long can that be?"

Schultz looked from Hogan to Olsen and back again, finding equally smug smirks on both faces. Finally, he just whimpered and settled back into his seat. "Colonel Klink will throw me into the cooler," he muttered, allowing Hogan a small smile.

The rest of the trip was made in silence, giving Hogan time to dwell on the situation he now found his men and himself in.

He should've taken Carter to a hospital. Now he was trapped in the tunnels which, as Colonel Potter had pointed out, were less than ideal for surgery. There was no doubt that Carter would get an infection and their supply of penicillin was low. The only way to get more was through London.

Hogan tensed at the thought. London had done enough damage. They probably couldn't even handle a simple drop like that. There had to be another way. But what?

Hogan didn't have much time to think further than that because Stalag 13 was quickly coming into view. As they pulled through the front gates, Hogan saw Colonel Klink pacing outside his office. As soon as they stopped, the kommandant was making his way up to the truck, a hopeful look on his face.

"Did you find Carter?"

"Sorry sir," Hogan said as he hopped out of the truck. "But Carter's smarter than I thought. We couldn't find him anywhere."

Klink's face fell and suddenly hardened. "Colonel Hogan, in my office."

"Sure thing, Kommandant." At that, Klink swivelled on his heel and marched up the steps of his office.

"Donors," Hogan whispered to Olsen who gave a quick salute and slipped away. Schultz didn't seem to notice as he led Hogan to the Kommandant's office.

"So Kommandant, what did you want to see me about?" Hogan asked as he nonchalantly took off his hat and placed it on the helmet on Klink's desk. Klink automatically tore it off and shoved it back into Hogan's hands, stamping his foot in annoyance.

"Hogan, you know exactly why I wanted to see you! You said you would bring Carter back!"

"Did I?" Hogan asked innocently.

Klink stamped his foot again. "Yes! I told you it would be a week in the cooler if you didn't."

"I thought you said for the rest of the war," Schultz put in. "And then Colonel Hogan said that would only be a week because-"

"SCHULTZ!" Klink shook a fist at the guard. "What are you doing here? Go take Olsen to the cooler."

"Jawhol, Herr Kommandant," Schultz said as he straightened and offered a salute. He turned and looked around, as if he had expected Olsen to be right behind him. He looked back at the officers in confusion. Hogan just shrugged and Klink simply reissued his order.

"Now, where is Carter?" Klink asked when Schultz had left. "I know you know where he is, Hogan."

"Well, that's just it. I don't. He just-" Hogan snapped his fingers- "disappeared."

"Well then, Hogan, I will just have to make you-" Klink imitated Hogan and also snapped his fingers- "disappear. Thirty days in the cooler!"

"Thirty days!" Hogan protested. "That's a humanly unjustified punishment! You should at least take into consideration that I brought Olsen and Schultz back with me."

"I did. Thirty days Hogan, no less. Guard!" A moment later, the door opened and Corporal Langenscheidt poked his head in.

"Kommandant?"

"Take him to the cooler," Klink said, waving his hand towards the door. Langenscheidt craned his neck to see Hogan standing behind the door. He quickly nodded and offered both officers a salute before stepping into the room and gesturing for Hogan to go ahead.

"You're making a mistake, Kommandant. You won't be able to find Carter without me," Hogan cried as one last protest. Truth was, he wanted to go to the cooler. Generally, the guards left him alone. They also followed a strict timetable as to when they checked up on their prisoners- a timetable the men had down to the second- so it would be easy to slip in and out without anyone noticing.

"Apparently, I can't do any worse than you. Take him away, Langenscheidt."

With an exaggerated sigh of defeat, Hogan turned and left the office. In the compound, he met up with Olsen and Schultz who were also headed for the cooler. Olsen gave Hogan a quick nod before the two prisoners were led into their own separate cells.

Hogan waited until he was sure the guards were gone before he opened the trap door in the cooler and snuck into the tunnels.

* * *

LeBeau's tirade fell on deaf ears. The men in Barracks 2 seemed far more interested in cleaning up after the 'air raid' than to listen to him. It only served to make LeBeau more angry, but he took the hint and kept his ranting to himself.

It was not fair, LeBeau thought angrily as he paced the barracks, stepping past piles of junk that had been pushed to the floor. Why had he been passed over for Olsen? Did the colonel not trust him anymore? That was ridiculous; he had done nothing wrong! Well, he hadn't intentionally done anything wrong.

LeBeau let out a pathetic sigh and slumped onto the bench at the common room table.

He realized he had let the team down on the mission. If he hadn't fainted, they would've been home so much sooner and perhaps Newkirk, Kinch and Carter wouldn't have been so bad off. There was not much he could've done though. He had always hated the sight of blood. And while he had held off as long as he could, seeing and feeling Carter's blood on his hands had done him in completely.

But it wasn't as if this was the first mistake he had made. He had made plenty over the years- they all had. And every time, Colonel Hogan had managed to get them out of whatever bad situation they got themselves into. Sure, when one of them made a mistake, the others were rather sore at him for a few days, but eventually, they go over it- if only for the good of the outfit.

So far they had been lucky. The operation had been going for two years now and in that time, there had been few major injuries. Nothing, anyway, that their medic and a few days of rest couldn't fix. But this time was different. This time, they hadn't been so lucky.

And how was that his fault, LeBeau suddenly thought angrily. Carter had been hurt long before he had fainted! Yes, fainting hadn't helped anything, but, really, it hadn't made their situation a whole lot worse. They had made it back, albeit a bit slower than they could have. Still, the others had no good reason to be mad at him.

The colonel had passed him over for this one mission and that would be the end of it.

"Hey, what time is it?" Kinch asked, snapping LeBeau out of his thoughts.

"'Bout ten o'clock," Goldman answered from the other side of the room where he was sweeping.

"Newkirk's been out about two hours," Kinch noted. "We ought to wake him up." He tried to get out of his bunk only to wince in pain. His hands went to his leg and he gently massaged his calf.

"I'll do it," LeBeau volunteered. Kneeling next to Newkirk, he gently shook his shoulder. "Newkirk?" Newkirk muttered something unintelligible and tried to swat LeBeau away. "Wake up Newkirk. Wake up."

"Wha?" Newkirk peered through bleary eyes and quickly shut them again. "Cor, it's bright in here."

"Sorry, my friend," LeBeau apologized. He got up and shut the shutter closest to Newkirk's bunk. "Is that better?" Newkirk just grunted but did manage to sit up. "How do you feel?"

Newkirk rubbed his head and looked over at LeBeau. Suddenly, he scowled and turned away. "Oh, who me? Concerned, are we? Well, I feel like I was caught in a bloody air raid and had to carry me mate home by myself because someone up and fainted on me for no good reason. How you feeling, Kinch?"

"On the mend," Kinch answered, catching LeBeau's gaze. He gave him a sorry look as if he were apologizing for Newkirk's scathing remarks. "Helps that I don't have a chip on my shoulder."

Newkirk just grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest, causing LeBeau to clench a fist. Newkirk knew he wasn't responsible for Carter; the Englishman was just being stubborn, that was all.

"I am sorry for fainting, but I-"

"Oh, why don't you go cook something," Newkirk interrupted.

"Cook?! I can do much more than cook! I am-" LeBeau cut himself off and angrily rose to his feet. There was no use arguing with a man who had a concussion- LeBeau would just end up giving him another one. And so, without another word, LeBeau hoisted himself onto his bunk and stared up and the ceiling.

Perhaps when Newkirk's head cleared a bit, he would eventually see that he was wrong to be mad. And if not? LeBeau sighed. There had to be a way he could make it up to the others.

Just then, the door to the barracks opened and Olsen slipped in. Everyone perked up and watched the sergeant anxiously, waiting for any sort of news.

"Did you get him?" Kinch asked.

"Yeah. The colonel sent me to find blood donors for Carter. Any volunteers?"

LeBeau sat up in his bunk. This was just what he needed. Not only would he help save Carter's life- as he had failed to do on the way home- but it would be a testament to his courage to donate blood. "I volunteer Olsen," LeBeau cried as he jumped off his bunk. He caught Newkirk's sceptical out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help but smile.

"What's your blood type?" Olsen asked.

"A positive," LeBeau answered as he fished out his dog tags and showed them to Olsen.

Olsen clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Sorry, LeBeau. I need B positive." He gently pushed LeBeau to the side so he could get a better view of the hut. "Anyone B positive?"

"I am," Goldman answered.

"Great. Go-"

The door opened behind him and Schultz stepped in, cutting Olsen off. "Olsen!" The big guard cried. "Olsen, what are you doing here? You were supposed to follow me!"

"Klink just wanted to see Colonel Hogan, Schultz," Olsen answered innocently.

"Well, now he wants you in the cooler too. Raus!"

"All right," Olsen said, holding his hands up in surrender, "I'm coming." As he followed Schultz out the door, he grabbed LeBeau's sleeve. "Round up some more and send them to the tunnels."

Slumping his shoulders, LeBeau nodded as the sergeant left. "Goldman, into the tunnels," he sighed. "I will be back; I am going to find more donors." LeBeau grabbed the door handle and glanced down at Newkirk. The Englishman was asleep again. With a tiny sigh, he opened the door and stepped into the compound, knowing that his act of heroism- if it could even be considered that- had gone largely unnoticed and unappreciated.


	11. Sewing Room Operation

Colonel Potter sat on the edge of the cot next to Carter and let out a long, tired sigh. If Colonel Hogan really expected him to pull off this miracle, he needed to get some shut eye. An hour nap in the back of a fleeing German truck wasn't going to cut it.

Shaking his head to clear it, Potter cleared his throat and went back to examining Carter's back. A basin of alcohol sat beside him on his cot and Potter dabbed a handkerchief in it. It wasn't ideal, but then nothing about this situation was and he had to do something to help prevent infection. Right now, Wilson was scrounging around the tunnels for penicillin. The medic hadn't seemed too hopeful, but at the same time, seemed confident that, if he could not find any, Hogan would procure some. Potter had little doubt of that. Colonel Hogan seemed capable of anything.

As gently as he could, Potter dabbed the handkerchief on Carter's back. As a result, Carter cried out, nearly making Potter jump out of his skin.

"Sorry, son, I didn't realize you were still awake!"

Carter took a deep, shuddering breath and buried his head into his pillow. "Gee, I was about to say the same thing about you, sir," he said slowly, his voice muffled by the pillow. "You haven't said anything since Wilson left."

"Sorry. I guess I haven't had much of a bedside manner. Just got to thinking, I guess."

"About what?" Carter turned his head and looked up at Potter who gave him a small smile.

"Oh, well, I don't want to embarrass you, son, but I was thinking about your back."

"Aw shucks." The two men shared a quiet laugh, which was cut short when Carter suddenly tensed and squeezed his pillow so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Easy there. Take it easy, now," Potter chided.

It was a few minutes before Carter spoke again. "Is it bad?"

"You're going to be just fine," Potter assured him, wishing he could do the same for himself. Carter just nodded and gave Potter a tiny smile, catching Potter off guard. He hadn't even shown a hint of scepticism; he really believed him.

"Piece of pie," Carter said after a moment's silence.

"You can bank on it," Potter replied. He glanced around the tunnel and then looked back at Carter.

It might just turn out all right after all, Potter found himself thinking. There was only so much a doctor could do. The rest was up to God and the patient. He had seen a lot of things as a doctor and had worked on a lot of people. He had seen soldiers with otherwise superficial wounds just give up and die on him. Others could be walking junk yards and still pull through simply because they were too stubborn to let go of life. Carter didn't seem like the stubborn type, but he had the right attitude anyway. If he was going to pull through, he was going to be just as responsible as Potter was.

"I found some." Potter looked over his shoulder to see Wilson coming back into the room. The medic pulled out a vial of penicillin from the box he had tucked under his arm and handed it to Potter. "Not much but it should tide us over until the colonel can get some more."

Potter took the vial and looked it over. "Fine. What else do you got there?" he asked, eyeing the box Wilson had.

"Well, first thing, some morphine," Wilson said, pulling out another vial and a needle and handing it off to Potter.

"For me?" Carter asked.

"Well it sure isn't for me," Potter answered. "This'll dull the pain some but it won't do much for our conversation."

"You mean Carter's actually letting you speak?" Wilson asked sceptically.

"Well, it's not really what I would call a conversation, more like a consultation," Carter said slowly. Potter took the opportunity to jab the needle into Carter's rump while he wasn't paying attention. "You know, like a check-up almost. I mean, if I really wanted to have a conversation," he continued, his words becoming more and more slurred as he went on, "I would- I would ask him where- where…mmmmm, hum where… he…" Carter's unintelligible mumbling went on for a few more minutes before it quietly died off.

"The man's a bona fide chatterbox. I'd almost hate to see him when he's healthy," Potter said in amusement. Wilson just snorted. "What else you got in there?"

"Sedatives, bandages, thread, needles," Wilson answered. "The boys are working on your instruments. Should take a while. Here, let me finish cleaning his back, sir," he offered. "You look like a train wreck. Why don't you go to sleep for an hour."

Potter shook his head, nixing the idea right off. "No good. The sooner I operate, the better."

"One hour," Wilson said firmly. "That'll give me time to clean him up and set up an operating room." He gestured to the radio and the ladder on the other side of the room. "Too much traffic through this room. That ladder leads to the barracks up top. And who knows when we'll have to send information off to London."

"London?" Potter repeated, eyeing the radio. "Just how big is this operation?"

"Big enough, sir," Wilson answered. "Now, one hour. Deal?"

Potter sized Wilson up but finally nodded. He was right. An hour of sleep would do him a world of good. And he wouldn't be any use to Carter if he couldn't keep his eyes open long enough to finish the operation. "All right. Wake me up in an hour. The doctor is out." And with that, he got to his feet, let Wilson sit next to Carter, and moved one cot over. His head had barely touched the pillow before his eyes closed and Potter was asleep.

* * *

The radio room was empty when Colonel Hogan came in. Neither Carter nor Potter were anywhere to be seen. "Colonel Potter?" Hogan called, only to be met with silence. "Doctor?"

Nothing. Just where had the doctor taken Carter? Had he convinced his men to take Carter out of the tunnels and to a hospital? No, that couldn't have been it. But where was he then?

A faint glow from down the tunnel caught his attention and he quickly made his way towards it. On his way, he passed several racks of uniforms that had apparently been placed haphazardly in the hall along with rolls of fabric and a few unmarked crates.

The glow, it turned out, was coming from under a curtain that had been strung up in the entrance of Newkirk's sewing room. Hogan poked his head in to find the room had been emptied out and several lanterns and lamps had been placed all around, lighting the place up brilliantly. Carter was on a table in the middle of the room with Potter standing over him. A few other men sat off to the side, including LeBeau, who was keeping his eyes firmly on the ground. All of them were wearing masks and for some reason, it sent a chill up Hogan's spine.

"Operating room?" Hogan asked as he stepped in.

Potter didn't even look at him as he snorted contemptuously. "Had your men dig up every damn lantern they could find. There were more, but the air circulation in here isn't good enough." He took another look around and muttered under his breath, "I wouldn't operate on my horse in here."

"Looks bright enough to me," Hogan noted. The look Potter gave him made him change his mind. "I'm sure you've had worse," he finally said. At that, Potter sighed.

"It'll do."

Hogan crossed his arms and grabbed his elbows. "LeBeau?" he said after a moment of thought.

"Oui, mon colonel?!" LeBeau said eagerly, jumping to his feet. "What can I do?"

"LeBeau, go scrounge up some mirrors. Maybe we can bounce some light around and make it a bit brighter." LeBeau seemed to deflate, but quickly threw Hogan a salute and slipped past him out the door. "Got everything you need, doc?"

Potter grunted. "Your boys fixed me up with some instruments." He held up a scalpel and nodded. "Gotta admit, they're pretty clever."

"We aim to please," Hogan said, managing a crooked smile. "Anything else?"

Potter shook his head. "Not unless you have a sterile room hidden in these tunnels. Wilson found some penicillin, but it's not nearly enough."

"I'll work on that," Hogan promised. "He out, yet?" he asked, gesturing to Carter.

"Like the proverbial light," Potter answered with a nod.

Hogan nodded and was about to put his hand on Carter's shoulder when he thought better of it. "Hold tight. Piece of pie, Carter. Piece of pie." He could almost hear Carter reversing their roles and correcting him.

LeBeau came in then, carrying a mirror in each hand. "There is another in the barber shop, but I will need help to carry it in," he reported.

"Barber shop? Sweet jumping jellyfish, what is this place?!" Potter demanded.

"Well, we may be prisoners, but that doesn't mean we don't have to look respectable," Hogan said with a shrug. "Goldman." Goldman quickly stood. "Help LeBeau and set those up. It's not much, doctor, but it'll help a bit." Potter simply nodded. Neither spoke for a moment and Hogan twisted his cap in his hands. "All right. Well, if you don't need me…"

"You'll be pacing outside the door," Potter finished.

Hogan's lips twitched and he nodded. "Take care of him, Doctor." And with that, he slipped out of the room.

LeBeau and Goldman came back a few minutes later, carrying a mirror between them. As they pulled back the curtain to go in, Hogan caught a glimpse of Potter holding a scalpel up to the light and then moving it to Carter's back. He shuddered and turned away.

"Hold up, LeBeau!" Goldman suddenly cried, drawing Hogan's attention back to the room. LeBeau swayed dangerously on his feet.

Great. LeBeau was going to pass out and drop the mirror. Just lovely. "LeBeau, put the mirror down before you-"

"I am fine, mon colonel," LeBeau snapped. Setting his jaw, the little Frenchman helped Goldman set the mirror down in the corner before whirling on his heel and marching out the door. Hogan said nothing to him as he marched past.

"I'll be right outside if you need me, Doctor," Hogan reminded before he pulled the curtain closed and began his pacing.

He knew he had other things to do. He needed to find penicillin. He needed to check on Newkirk and Kinch. He needed to pop back into the cooler just in case one of the guards decided to check up on him ahead of schedule. But each time he went to go do one of those things, he got not more than five steps before he whirled back around and started pacing again.

It was awful quiet in the sewing/operating room, he noted with worry. Every once in a while, he heard Potter ask for another instrument, but that was it. Perhaps that was a good thing. Potter's voice, after all, was even and calm. That was far better than frantic yelling, Hogan supposed.

Time crawled by and Hogan had worn a lovely track into the floor before the curtain was finally pulled open. Cautiously, Hogan stepped into the room. "Well?"

Potter sighed as he pulled off his mask. "I was going in there blind, but I think I got everything," the doctor reported.

Hogan let out a long breath and nodded. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," Potter warned. "He still has a long way to go. And his final destination is going to hinge on you getting him some penicillin."

Hogan nodded. "Penicillin. Right." It wouldn't be too hard. All he had to do was come up with a way to get some without calling London.

No problem at all.


	12. A Quick Visit

If Kinch's leg hadn't hurt so badly, he would be pacing so much, there'd be a hole in the floor going straight down to the tunnels. Instead, he sat on his bunk and anxiously fiddled with a radio he had pulled out from his foot locker. He must've taken it apart and put it back together three different times already.

LeBeau had disappeared down in the tunnels with blood donors hours ago. That doctor was probably operating on Carter right now. How long would it take? How was Carter holding up? And how long would he have to wait until he knew the outcome, one way or the other?

He couldn't stand it anymore. Four hours! It would hurt like the dickens, but he was going down to the tunnels to wait. Then, he would be right there when the doctor finished. He wanted to be there when Carter woke up, if only to reassure himself that the other sergeant had made it.

Kinch checked his watch. It had been two hours since someone had last waken Newkirk. It was about time to wake him again. Maybe the Englishman would want to join him. Kinch snorted. No maybes about it. Despite being complete opposites, Newkirk and Carter had forged a strong friendship. A little concussion wouldn't keep Newkirk from checking up on him.

Reaching over, Kinch grabbed Newkirk's foot and shook it. "Newkirk, wake up."

Newkirk woke with a started and pulled his foot away. "Oi! Let go of me foot!"

"You awake, Newkirk?"

"No, I'm still asleep. That's why I'm talking to you. Blimey, Kinch, did you decide to ask the dumb questions for Carter while he's gone?"

"Yeah, and I might as well ask the questions for the colonel too. Who's the prime minister of England?"

"Winnie the Pooh," Newkirk answered sourly. He slowly sat up and was met with a sceptical look from Kinch. "Winston Churchill, mate. Don't worry, the old head still works." He tapped his head and winced as a result.

"If you say so," Kinch said, shaking his head in amusement. "I'm going down to check on Carter," he announced as he bent over the edge of his bed and pulled out his footlocker. He quickly placed the radio in the false bottom and shoved the locker back under. "Want to come?"

To Kinch's surprise, Newkirk didn't answer right away. Instead, he gingerly touched his head again as if to make sure it was on properly. Then, after flexing his arm, he nodded. "Right then. You think you can make it down that ladder, Kinch?"

"My bum leg can beat your cracked head any day of the week," Kinch answered with a sly grin. Newkirk just rolled his eyes and carefully got out of his bunk. Kinch swung his legs over the side of his bed and grabbed the top bunk to lift himself up onto his good leg. Then, he smacked the bunk to open the trap door leading to the tunnels.

With his leg protesting on every rung, Kinch slowly climbed down the ladder. He nearly slipped twice, but kept a vice-like grip on the ladder with both hands. Finally, he reached the bottom and nearly collapsed. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all, he mused as he looked back up to the entrance. Just how was he supposed to get back up?

Newkirk was not far behind him and when the Englishman got off, he grabbed hold of Kinch and held him up. "Fine pair we make," Newkirk snorted. He looked around the empty radio room and then back at Kinch. "Where do you suppose they are?"

Kinch shrugged. "Close, I hope." Pushing away from Newkirk, he grabbed the chair at his desk and limped over, sitting himself down with a sigh of relief.

"Maybe I'll poke about a bit," Newkirk offered. He took a few steps, swayed on his feet and stumbled forward, catching himself on the desk. "Then again…"

"Kinch? Newkirk?" Kinch looked up to see Colonel Hogan coming towards them. "What are you two doing down here?"

"Came to see Carter," Kinch answered. "Where is he?"

Hogan jerked his head towards the hall behind him. "Newkirk's sewing room. The doctor turned it into his operating room."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Kinch could see Newkirk pale slightly. He wouldn't be surprised if the Englishman set up shop in another room afterwards.

"How is he?" Newkirk asked after a moment.

"Doctor says he has a ways to go. But he'll pull through."

Kinch had the feeling the colonel was omitting something but there was something in Hogan's tone that told him that was all he was going to get out of him. "Can we see him?"

Hogan nodded. "All right by me. The doctor might just kick you out though."

"We'll take our chances," Newkirk said. He grabbed Kinch's hand and helped him up and together, the two started their way down the tunnel. A voice from above made them stop in their tracks.

"Colonel Hogan?" Private Fuller called from the barracks above. "Colonel?"

Hogan raced to the ladder and looked up. "What is it?"

"General Burkhalter just came into camp and went into Klink's office. Coffee pot says they're sending Schultz for you."

"On my way." And with that, Hogan darted down the tunnel and off towards the cooler.

Kinch and Newkirk shrugged and continued on their way. They finally reached the sewing room and peered in. In the middle of the room, Carter lay on a table and a short, balding man stood over him, gently taping bandages to his back. There were lanterns and lamps all over the floor and hanging from the ceiling, but only a few of them were lit, casting eerie, flickering shadows onto the walls.

"Doctor?" Kinch said after a moment.

Colonel Potter jumped and looked over. "Back already? Good. Fill them up, pronto. I need some light in here."

"Sir?"

"Oil for the lamps," Potter clarified.

Goldman, who was sitting against the wall, holding his arm, looked up. "That's not them, Colonel. They're just visiting."

"Oh." Potter inspected Kinch and Newkirk. "come on in, then. But you can't stay too long. Doubt you'll find the conversation interesting anyway."

"Never do," Newkirk said with a wry smile. Potter just chuckled. "Ah, I see you've had the pleasure of talking to him, then."

"Briefly," Potter acknowledged.

They shared a small laugh. Kinch pushed himself away from Newkirk and grabbed hold of the table. "We don't mean it, Andrew," he said. "In fact, I can't wait to hear about the operation your Aunt May Belle had back in '32." He had little doubt that Carter had such a story and would most likely be sharing it once he recovered.

"Me too, mate," Newkirk added quietly. He looked up at Potter. "He's going to pull through, right?"

Potter scratched his jaw. "The most immediate problem is going to be infection."

"The most immediate," Kinch echoed. "What about the not so immediate problems?"

Potter looked between the two and then down at Carter. "There's always a chance of paralysis."

Kinch felt as if someone had just sucker-punched him. Colonel Hogan hadn't mentioned that. Hadn't even hinted at it, Kinch though angrily. "How big of a chance?"

Potter shrugged. "Can't say for sure. When he's awake, I'll check."

"Does the colonel know?" Newkirk asked, exchanging a glance with Kinch. So, he wasn't the only one who was mad at the colonel.

Potter shook his head. "No use in worrying him with that. He just needs to concentrate on getting penicillin. If we can't put the reins on an infection pronto, it won't matter whether he can walk or not."

"It'll matter to him," Kinch said. They could have all the penicillin they needed but if he was paralysed, Kinch wasn't sure Carter would want it. At least, if their roles were reversed, Kinch wasn't sure _he_ would want it. Being an invalid scared him more than death.


	13. Butt-Biting Monkey Traps

Colonel Hogan had just closed the entrance and was settling on his cot when the cooler door opened. "Colonel Hogan?" Schultz called, sounding unsure, as he poked his head in. "Oh, Colonel Hogan, you are here!"

"Of course I'm here," Hogan yawned with practiced nonchalance. "Where else would I be?"

Schultz held up a finger and opened his mouth but quickly shut it, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Colonel Klink wants to see you right away. General Burkhalter is here."

"A guy never gets a chance to just kick back and rest in the cooler, does he?" Hogan got up and brushed off his trousers. "All right, Schultz, lead on."

As Schultz led him out of the cooler and into the compound, a sinking feeling crept over Hogan. Why was Burkhalter there? Hogan had thought the fat general would be taking it easy after his 'near death experience'.

He would find out soon enough, he supposed. And when he did, he would have to be ready for some fancy footwork. Burkhalter didn't generally pay Klink social visits even in the best of times. Something big was up.

"Decided to cut my sentence short, Colonel?" Hogan asked cheerfully as he pushed open the Kommandant's door and strolled into his office. Burkhalter and Klink turned their attention to him. "Find Carter, did you?"

"What is he talking about, Klink?" Burkhalter demanded immediately, glaring at Klink.

Klink chuckled nervously. "Well, we had a little escape earlier during the air raid. But the general has no need to worry. I have men searching the whole area for him as we speak."

"Forget it, Kommandant. I already told you, Carter is long gone."

"Hogan!" Burkhalter shouted in a voice that was usually spared for Klink, causing Hogan to jump back. "I am not interested in any escapes from here at the moment!"

"I'll spread the word," Hogan said once he recovered. "The boys'll be mighty glad to hear it. I wonder how many I can get out before you change your mind."

"Hogan," Klink said, shaking his fist, "General Burkhalter was not giving permission. No one escapes Stalag 13, no one."

"No one except Carter," Hogan pointed out.

"Enough, both of you," Burkhalter snapped, shifting in his chair. "I would like to get this over with so that I can go back to resting."

"Oh, the general is more than welcome to use my guest quarters if he does not want to-" the look Burkhalter gave him cut Klink off. "Hogan! The general has travelled a long way. Now pay attention or I will double your sentence in the cooler."

Hogan was about to protest, but found himself under the murderous gaze of General Burkhalter and decided to listen instead.

"This morning, an officer escaped from Oflag 18," Burkhalter began. He paused as if expecting an interruption and continued. "A German officer, pretending to have orders from me, went in and took him. Colonel Ruebel was able to discover he was a fake, but he escaped with the prisoner."

"That's wonderful, General. But what does this have to do with me?"

General Burkhalter leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak loudly. Hogan could see Klink wince from the corner of his eye. "The officer who escaped is the doctor who treated my foot. This was the last place he was before he got to Oflag 18. Colonel Klink says he knows nothing about it. But no one else would know that my foot was treated here… The description Ruebel gave almost matches you, Hogan."

"General, after I got Wilson, I spent all night making sure my men were safe from the air raid. You never know how close it'll get." He gestured to Burkhalter's foot to prove his point.

"This is ridiculous. Even if Hogan could escape, which he cannot," Klink said quickly, "why would he want a doctor?"

Burkhalter studied the two of them carefully. "I don't know. Why would anyone break out a doctor?" Hogan just shrugged making Burkhalter sigh. "Klink, Oflag 18 is only an hour away. While you are searching for your prisoner-" he handed over a file- "have them look for this man as well."

Klink opened the folder and inspected it. "Mmmhmm, mmhmm. Lieutenant Colonel Sherman Potter. It will-"

Hogan suddenly gasped and covered his mouth. Burkhalter immediately looked over. "What is it, Hogan?"

"Nothing, nothing," Hogan insisted. "Can I go back to the cooler now?"

Klink didn't even look at him as he read over the file and waved a hand towards the door. "Dismissed."

Hogan turned to leave but Burkhalter stopped him. "Don't move, Hogan. What do you know about this man?"

"Nothing. Can I just go back to the cooler, please?"

"Not so fast, Hogan," Klink warned, finally catching on. "You know something. What is it? I warn you we have-"

"Klink, shut up. Hogan, tell us what you know. Now."

Hogan glanced between the two and then cautiously side-stepped next to Klink, reading the file over his shoulder. He pointed to the picture and gasped again. "I don't believe it."

"What? What? What? Don't believe what, Hogan?"

"Sherman Potter," Hogan whispered. "The Fourth Horseman…" He was met with blank stares for the two Germans. "That's what he was called back in the first war. He was a big hero in the cavalry." He tapped the folder excitedly. "They even named the Sherman tank after him!"

Burkhalter eased himself up and looked at the picture. "The Fourth Horseman? But he is a doctor!"

Hogan shrugged. "Changed his ways after the war. I can't believe he was here and I missed him!"

Burkhalter looked thoughtful for a moment. "A hero? Intelligence said nothing about that."

"Well, he is a doctor. Who'd a thunk."

Burkhalter stroked his chin. "Maybe the Allies wanted to break him out before we found out."

"We're clever like that," Hogan said with a cheeky grin.

Burkhalter just scowled. "Have your men search for him, Klink. I will notify High Command. There is still a chance we can recapture him!"

"Right away, General Burkhalter," Klink said as he offered a salute. He quickly grabbed the radio on his desk and cranked the handle. "This is Kommandant Klink. Send someone back to the camp at once. There is another escaped prisoner to look for." He set the handset down and chuckled nervously, shaking a finger in the air. "You see General, I am on top of everything."

Burkhalter just rolled his eyes. "Klink, I am going to your guest quarters for a nap. When I am done, we will talk about _your_ escaped prisoner."

Klink's smile faded into a grimace. "Of course, Herr General. Schultz," he called. Schultz poked his head into the room. "Take Colonel Hogan back to the cooler immediately."

"Right away, Herr Kommandant!" Schultz motioned for Hogan to follow him. Hogan offered the two Germans a sloppy salute before he turned and left the office.

Just great. Why did General Burkhalter have to come and poke his nose into Stalag 13? Hogan had hoped that his twisted ankle would keep the general away long enough for Carter to be well enough to be 'recaptured'.

But that wasn't the wrost of it. He had known the incident at Oflag 18 would come back to bite him in the butt, but he hadn't expected it to happen so soon. And he probably wasn't out of that monkey trap yet either.

"Fourth Horseman. Good going," he berated himself under his breath. Now every Kraut in Europe would be on the alert for him. Not that Hogan planned to turn him over to the Underground anytime soon. Not until Carter was on his feet. Maybe by then the furor would die down.

"Thanks Schultz," Hogan said absently when he realized they had reached the cooler and Schultz was holding open the door to his cell.

"Colonel Hogan," Schultz said hesitantly, "Kommandant Klink _will_ find Carter, won't he?"

Hogan shrugged. "Miracles sometimes happen, Schultz."

Schultz whimpered. "But you can find him, can't you, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan shrugged. "I already looked."

Schultz didn't look convinced and he shook a finger at Hogan. "You were in town on monkey business."

"Guilty," Hogan admitted. "But, even if I could find him, I'm stuck in the cooler. I can't get out and look for him."

Schultz peered into the cell and eyed it suspiciously. Suddenly, he stood straight. "Colonel Hogan, you are not supposed to be talking to me! I will make sure none of the guards talk to you! You are in complete and total isolation!"

"What? No human contact?!" Hogan cried, genuinely surprised. Not really at the order, but at the fact Schultz was giving it. Why? A slow smile crept onto Hogan's face as he studied Schultz carefully. The sergeant of the guard was just protecting himself just in case Hogan disappeared from the cooler- he wouldn't see or know anything. "Schuuultz," Hogan drawled, "that's against the Geneva Convention."

That didn't seem to faze him. "I have given the order!" And with that, Schultz closed and locked the door.

"What about Olsen?!" Hogan called.

There was a moment of silence before the little slot at the top of the door opened and Schultz looked in. "Colonel Hogan," Schultz pleaded, "what about Olsen?"

"Isn't he in solitary too?"

"Both of you?" Schultz asked. Hogan just shrugged. "Right! Olsen, you too!" Schultz called. He got no answer from the cell from across the hall. It was probably empty. "There! See! _He_ knows not to argue!"

And with that, Schultz shut the slot and Hogan could hear him marching off. He waited until he was sure Schultz was gone before he opened the trapdoor and slipped into the tunnel.


	14. Humility Comes Before the Fall

Kinch and Newkirk were sitting next to Carter when Hogan came in. Potter was standing off to the side, cleaning off his instruments.

"How is he?" Hogan asked as he stepped up. It just wasn't right for Carter to be so still.

Kinch looked up with a wary expression and shrugged. "'Bout the same, I guess. Doc says he won't be awake for a few hours. Then we'll know."

Newkirk started to say something, but seemed to change his mind halfway through and just nodded in agreement.

"All right. We just going to leave him in here?" The table didn't look particularly comfortable, but then again, everything would probably be uncomfortable for Carter.

"Can't move him," Potter said. "Not yet."

Hogan accepted that with a nod. His wished there was more he could do, but the only thing anyone could do was wait. But Hogan was never one to spend time idly. There was still work to be done.

First things, first- penicillin. Grabbing his elbows, Hogan folded his arms across his chest and thought. Where would he get penicillin in the middle of Germany? Whatever the Krauts had was generally stolen from the Allies and kept under lock and key, ruling out the possibility from swiping it from the local hospital, which more than likely wasn't important enough to have some anyway.

The Underground? No. They were in the same situation as Hogan- they could only steal what the Germans had available.

"How goes the hunt for penicillin?" Potter interrupted Hogan's thoughts with the very thing that was on his mind.

"Stalling." He snapped his fingers as inspiration suddenly struck him. All their contacts behind the lines were rather useless in getting penicillin, but not transporting it. If they could contact someone on the other side, perhaps Tiger, they could pass it along through the Underground system until it reached him. "Kinch, get a hold of Tiger. Tell her we need her to get some penicillin to us."

Kinch looked at him doubtfully and shook his head. "No good, Colonel. It'll take to long- that is if it gets to us at all."

"Why not London, Colonel?" Newkirk asked, sounding perplexed that Hogan wouldn't come up with that right off. "They could have it to us by tonight."

Hogan scowled. London was out. They were the ones who had gotten them into this mess to begin with.

"You mean that you can get London to drop you supplies?" Potter asked, sounding less surprised than the last time he had been given a glimpse at what they were capable of. "By plane?"

"Sure," Newkirk answered evenly. "They drop us supplies at least once a month. One radio call is all it would take."

"Then what's this about the Underground. Get hold of London, now," Potter ordered.

"Hold it Kinch," Hogan said as Kinch started to slowly rise to his feet. Kinch looked from Potter to Hogan and slowly sat down. Jerking his head to the door, Hogan motioned Potter to follow him outside.

"London's no good," Hogan stated flatly as he closed the curtain behind them.

"No good?" Potter repeated. "Why?"

"You know how Carter got hurt?" Hogan began, feeling a rush of anger for having to explain his decision. "It because London told us to go blow up a factory-" the only warranted a raised eyebrow from Potter- "and then sent an air raid to do the same thing. I'm lucky no one was outright killed."

"What's your point, son," Potter asked, looking unimpressed with the explanation.

Hogan balled a fist. "Point is, they're not going to cause anymore damage. I'll fix this without them."

Potter fixed Hogan with a hard stare which almost made the colonel take a step back. "You're willing to sacrifice that boy just to prove a point?!" The doctor bellowed angrily.

Hogan looked to the room where Carter lay, unconscious, and then back to Potter, his jaw set but didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. Potter was right, but Hogan wasn't ready yet to give up his ground. The silence only served to make Potter livid.

"Don't be a damn fool, son! That's like cutting your nose off to spite your face!" Potter tore open the curtain. "Sergeant, get on that radio and call London!"

"Hold it, Doctor," Hogan snapped. "My bird outranks your oak leaves. Kinch, sit down. We'll find some penicillin."

"Where?" Potter demanded. "My God, son, if you don't make that call and that boy dies, you're going to be twice as responsible as London." Hogan flinched at the words. The doctor was right. He knew it. He had known it from the beginning but a fierce sense of stubborn pride had kept him from admitting it. "Now," Potter continued sternly, "swallow your damn pride and make the call."

Hogan narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Fine." Keeping his gaze directly on Potter, he addressed Kinch, who had sat back down. "Kinch, contact London."

Kinch sighed in relief and slowly got up and hobbled past the two officers. Hogan eyes never left Potter until the older man turned to follow Kinch down the tunnel. Then, he let out a long breath. "Stay with him, Newkirk."

"Wasn't planning to do anything else, guv'."

He lingered at the door for a moment before he too started towards the radio room. Kinch was just easing himself into his chair when he arrived. Moving up behind him, Hogan laid a gentle hand on the sergeant's shoulder. He had ordered him to sit back and do nothing while Carter lay helpless and sick, he thought, feeling a sharp sting of guilt. "Sorry Kinch," he said sincerely. "I was just being stubborn. The Irish in me, I guess."

"It's okay, Colonel. We're all mad at London; I hope you're still going to chew them out when this is all over."

"Scout's honor," Hogan promised, holding up three fingers.

Satisfied, Kinch nodded and turned a few knobs on his radio before grabbing the microphone. "Papa Bear to Goldilocks, come in Goldilocks." He was answered with a rush of static. "Papa Bear to Goldilocks, come in Goldilocks," he repeated.

"This is Goldilocks," a voice answered a few minutes later. "Go ahead, Papa Bear."

Hogan took the microphone away from Kinch. "Goldilocks, this is Papa Bear. We need penicillin ASAP."

"I say, are you chaps all right?" Goldilocks asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Hogan snorted at the thought.

"No. We got caught in that air raid you sent for us. Now what about the penicillin."

"I'm so sorry, Papa Bear. But we thought-"

"The penicillin, Goldilocks," Hogan interrupted.

There was a hesitant pause on the other end. "I'm sorry, Papa Bear but we aren't sending any planes up. There's a storm battery-"

Hogan didn't wait for her to finish as he slammed the microphone down. "Storms," he growled.

Kinch quickly took over the call. "How long 'til you can send supplies, Goldilocks?" he asked, keeping an eye on Hogan, who just glared daggers at the radio.

"Three days, maybe," Goldilocks answered doubtfully. "I can get hold of a field in France. Maybe they can get a plane up before the storm reaches them."

"Do it, Goldilocks. We're counting on you."

"Right then. Goldilocks over and out."

Kinch set his equipment down. "They're going to try for a field in France, Colonel," he reported what Hogan had already heard.

"Fine." Hogan turned his furious gaze to Potter but still spoke to Kinch. "Contact Tiger. See what she can do for us."

"Right." Kinch changed the frequency of his radio. "Papa Bear to Tiger. Come in Tiger." There was no answer. Kinch tried again and again, but still no answer came. Finally, he set the radio down. "Sorry, Colonel. I don't think we'll be able to contact her or any of the other Underground agents in France. It's just too crazy over there right now."

"Keep trying," Hogan ordered, though he knew there was little chance of contacting her. "Well doctor, we'll just have to wait to see if London pulls through."

"I'm sure they will," Potter replied.

Hogan looked up at the ceiling as if he could see through it to the skies above. If London were sending a plane, it would be there tonight. If not, they'd have to rely on Tiger as Plan B. Hogan glanced at Kinch, who was trying to hail another Underground contact with no success, making it painfully obvious that Plan B was out.

With Plan A only a hope and Plan B hopeless, Hogan started to pace. Time to start planning Plan C.


	15. A Rather Pathetic Spy

Potter had left Hogan and Sergeant Kinchloe in the radio room and was now sitting in the corner of the one-time sewing, operating and now recovery room. Sometime between when he left and when he came back, the oil lamps had been refilled, lighting the room to a tolerable brightness. Besides Carter and Corporal Newkirk, everyone else had left. Newkirk had not left Carter's side the whole time and since Potter had not wanted to disturb the visit, he had settled in the corner and had tried to get some sleep. But his brain wouldn't shut off- too many things were nagging at him.

It was a good thing he hadn't told Hogan about the possibility of paralysis. Getting the man to call London had been hard enough in the first. It would've been near impossible if he had yet another thing to blame on them.

From the beginning, Potter had suspected Hogan of being stubborn. After all, a man who could break him out of one prison camp and smuggle him into another to operate on someone who got caught in an air raid while trying to blow up a factory had to have some level of determination. But he hadn't pegged him as being bull headedly foolish.

He didn't care what kind of operation Hogan was running from these tunnels- sabotage, intelligence, or even if it was just an overly secretive barber shop- Hogan's first duty should've been to his men, not his pride.

Well, anyway, Potter had set him right on that. Hogan had swallowed his pride enough to put in the call.

Now if only London would deliver.

Potter prayed they would. If not, he would be in a peck of trouble. Not that Potter cared about that. Hogan could be as indignant as he wanted to be, Potter had been right in chewing him out. The man needed a reminder of what was important; Carter was the important thing. And if London didn't deliver that penicillin, it would be him not would pay the price- not Hogan or Potter.

Potter checked his watch; it had been a little over an hour since he had finished the operation. With a grunt, he pushed himself off the dirt floor. His body protested at the movement and he nearly fell back down, but steadied himself against the wall. What he needed was a good long nap- preferably on a nice, feather mattress. But since this was war, and he was a prisoner of it, sacrifices had to be made, so he would settle for an army-issue cot.

But first things were first. He had the check up on his patient. And he had to keep checking up on him until he woke up.

When Potter pushed himself away from the wall, his hand came off dirty and he absently wiped it on his pants. A dirt tunnel. What a place to operate, he mused sourly. Not only was it dirty but also damp, he realized with a shiver.

"Just dandy," he muttered. He might as well add pneumonia to the list of things that could possibly make this situation worse.

As Potter reached the table, he noticed that Newkirk had fallen asleep on the stack of crates he was using as a chair. His bent arm provided a pillow for his cheek while his other hand rested on Carter's arm. It almost seemed a shame to wake him, but the stack of crates were slowly moving off center as Newkirk's weight shifted in his sleep. Potter tried to push them back in place with his foot, but only succeeded in making them more out of line. It wouldn't be too long before the whole thing fell over.

"Corporal," Potter called, gently shaking the Englishman. "Corporal, wake up, or you're going to end up in a heap on the floor." Newkirk groaned and stirred, but didn't wake. Potter shook a little harder. "Corporal."

"Winston Churchill, 1944. Now sod off," Newkirk muttered after another good shake.

"That doesn't mean a thing to me, son. Now wake up. Make it an order."

With a great yawn, Newkirk rubbed at his eyes, straightened and stretched. He suddenly winced and cradled his left arm against his chest.

"What's wrong with that?" Potter asked. He had just noticed the large goose egg on the corporal's head and wondered what else was wrong with him.

"Got a bit of shrapnel from the air raid," Newkirk replied. "Wilson stitched it up for me though."

"Hmmm." Potter mentally noted to look over his arm- and now that he thought about it, Sergeant Kinchloe's leg as well- after Carter was more stable. Or at least awake, since he had the feeling they wouldn't let him do anything until then.

"How is he?" Newkirk asked.

"Was just about to check that now," Potter told him. "Just wanted to wake you up before that chair of yours decided to find a new view."

"What?" Newkirk asked, confused. He looked down at the crates and a look of understanding crossed his face. "Right then." Carefully, he got up, realigned the crates and sat back down. "Thanks."

"No need. One patient is enough for me right now."

"Not too much, I hope," Newkirk said quietly, looking at Potter hopefully. "You can fix him, right guv?"

Potter forced a reassuring smile. "I'll do my best." He wished he could promise more but he didn't want to get any hopes up.

Unlike Carter, who had seemed so trusting, Newkirk reacted to the promise with a mix of despair and scepticism. Potter cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Don't suppose you can find me a thermometer anywhere?"

Newkirk looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded decisively. "I know just where to find one. Give me a minute, I'll be back in a tick." At that, he got to his feet. He wobbled for a moment as he tried to regain his bearings and then started for the door. He pulled open the curtain and was nearly knocked over by Corporal LeBeau, who was carrying a tray with a plate on it.

"Watch where you're going, LeBeau," Newkirk spat.

For a second, LeBeau's face hardened and it looked as if he were going to yell at Newkirk. But just as quickly, the expression melted into a hurt frown. "I am sorry, Newkirk."

"What's that you got then?"

"I thought maybe le docteur would be hungry. I do not think he has eaten yet." Newkirk just grunted and pushed past him. LeBeau stood in the doorway, watching him go before heaving a miserable sigh. His eyes then locked onto Carter. His gaze didn't even waver as he carefully set the tray down on Newkirk's crate pile. The smell nearly overwhelmed Potter and his stomach growled ferociously. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until now.

"How is he?" LeBeau asked, seemingly mesmerised by Carter's prone figure.

Potter put his finger's against Carter's neck and checked his pulse. It wasn't particularly strong, but it wasn't weak enough to alarm him. "Hanging in there," he finally reported. Then he nodded to the tray. "What you got there?" He knew it was for him. It was all he could do to keep for diving into it right that second.

"Oh. I made this. I did not know if you had had a chance to eat yet."

"Smells delish. Thank-you, Corporal. I'm so hungry, I could eat a horse- may the First Cavalry forgive me."

LeBeau gave him a weak smile. "It is nothing. Cooking is the only thing I am capable of doing here."

Potter seized him up critically. The little Frenchman was perhaps the only person Potter could say was truly shorter than himself. To look at him, Potter didn't think he would be much of a spy. "Is that so?" he finally said, not sure whether to believe him or not.

A perfectly wretched look crossed his face as he nodded. "Oui. I should not be a spy. I was on the mission with Carter and I…" He stopped and took a deep breath before continuing. "I fainted on the way home."

"Fainted? Why? Were you hurt?" Perhaps Hogan had been right when he said he was lucky no one was killed outright. But he sure had miserable luck with getting his men-and himself- wounded.

"No. I wasn't. But Carter was. I fainted at the sight of blood," LeBeau confessed. "And it was not the first time either. What kind of a spy faints at the sight of blood?"

Potter, who wasn't quite sure how to answer that, kept prudently silent, even as LeBeau searched for reassurance. "So you see," LeBeau continued. "I should only cook. I am good at that. It is no wonder le colonel and Newkirk are mad at me, non?"

Potter put a hand on LeBeau's shoulder. "They've got a lot on their minds right now. Give them a bit of time, they'll come around." Even to him, it seemed like a lame consolation. LeBeau just nodded, shrugged out of Potter's reach and shuffled out the door, looking every bit a failure with his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets.

"Sufferin' sheep dip," Potter muttered. Hogan didn't need a doctor so much as he needed a psychiatrist. His men all seemed to be falling apart and Potter wasn't sure he could put them back together.

"You better pull through, Sergeant," Potter said to Carter. "You're probably the only one who can pull them out of this."


	16. Plan C

It was all up to an unformed Plan C now.

After an hour of no response, Hogan had given up on the Underground, though he had ordered Kinch to keep trying.

Sometime in between, London had radioed too. The weather was still clear in France, but the penicillin needed to be delivered to an air field. By the time that happened, the weather could have very well changed. Hogan wasn't about to hold his breath.

Seated on one of the cots, Hogan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It couldn't just rain, it had to pour, didn't it? And, as usual, it was up to him to storm proof the operation. But how?

"Sir?"

Someone was shaking him. It took a moment for Hogan to realize that he had fallen asleep. When had that happened?

"Colonel Hogan?"

"Yeah, Kinch?" Hogan replied, forcing himself awake. Kinch stood over him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry to wake you Colonel," Kinch apologized.

"How long have I been asleep?" Hogan asked as he rubbed his face and stifled a yawn.

Kinch looked sheepish. "About two hours, sir," he admitted.

"Two hours?" Hogan cried in surprise. It couldn't have been two hours. Two minutes, maybe. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"I figured you would think better after some sleep. Have you thought of anything?"

Hogan shook his head. "And I suppose the reason you're asking is because London can't get us the penicillin."

"No," Kinch reported. "They got the penicillin to the airfield and even got a plane up, but it had to turn back. Goldilocks says that it could be up to five days before they can try again."

"Fine." Though he hadn't expected much more, Hogan still felt the disappointment weigh down on his shoulders. "Find out where the airfield is, Kinch. If the penicillin won't come to us, we'll go to it and bring it back ourselves."

"Right." Kinch sat back behind his radio.

"I'm going to check on Carter," Hogan announced as he got to his feet. He took a moment to stretch before heading down to Newkirk's sewing room. Colonel Potter was alone with his patient, who was still out.

"How is he, doc?" Hogan greeted as he stepped into the room.

Potter gave him a weary look. "Hanging in there," he reported as if he had given the answer several times already and still didn't believe it. "What's the situation on the penicillin?"

"London can't help us," Hogan said, giving Potter a pointed look. He didn't achieve the desired effect because Potter just glared back at him, as if challenging him to say it had been wrong to call London. "We're going to pick up the penicillin ourselves."

Potter just nodded, seemingly unfazed by the suggestion. "How long will it take you to get there and back?"

"Kinch is getting the location now. Shouldn't be more than three days," Hogan said. He cast a glance at Carter. "He going to hold out that long?"

"He's going to have to, isn't he."

"Colonel?" Kinch appeared in the doorway, a rolled up map in his hand. "How is he, Doctor?"

"Still with us," Hogan answered, saving Potter from having to repeat his earlier assessment.

"Sir, I got the location of the airfield." Kinch unrolled the map and spread it out on a stack of crates by the table. "Here," he said, pointing to an area circled in red. "It's a little far from the front. It'll take you at least two days to get there, and that's without factoring in the time it'll take to get through the lines. You sure about this, Colonel?"

"There's no other way, Kinch. Unless you've contacted the Underground." Kinch just shook his head. "Carter can't wait for the weather to clear. I'll take Olsen with me."

"Hold on there," Potter said. He studied the map intently and then pointed to a spot not too far from the front lines. "Last I heard, the 47th Evac Hospital was stationed here. They keep a bit of penicillin on hand. It's closer too."

Hogan analyzed the position. It was closer; it would probably shave a half day off the trip, at least. "You sure it's there?" he asked.

"Pretty sure."

Hogan's drew his lips into a thin line. He would be taking a chance if he went for the hospital. There was no guarantee it would still be there by the time he got to it. "Kinch," he said without looking from the spot on the map. "Contact London. Ask if they have the coordinates to the 47th Evac. If it's moved, asked which hospital is the closest to the front."

"I'm on it." Kinch rolled up the map and slipped out the door.

Hogan let out a sigh and leaned back against the wall. Things were looking up, if only slightly. But there were still plenty of problems. The biggest of which would be getting through the front lines. And he had to do it quickly or Carter was liable to check out before he got back.

"Give me a timeframe, Doc," Hogan said, breaking the silence that had taken hold of the room after Kinch's departure. "How long will you give me to get there and back?"

"Just go like hell, Colonel."

"I'm planning on it." Hogan pushed himself away from the wall and stood next to Carter. He desperately wanted to stay at least until Carter awoke, but the faster he left, the better. "Take care of him."

"I will. Now, go on. The sooner you get out of here, the sooner you'll be back."

Hogan lingered for a moment before turning on his heel and marching out the door. Kinch met him halfway to the radio room. "The doc's right, Colonel. The 47th Evac hasn't moved. Goldilocks says she'll make sure there's penicillin there for us." Kinch gave him a wry smile. "She says you're crazy though. There's always a chance the weather will clear before you have time to get there and back."

Hogan snorted. "Yeah, sure. The weather will clear and, just our luck, the Krauts will bomb the airfield. No, Kinch, I'm going. Hold down the fort, will you."

"Sure thing."

"Good. Now, get the boys started on some papers for Olsen and me. Uniforms too. Schultz is keeping us in complete solitary, but just in case, get Fuller and Wiggins to take our spots in the cooler." Kinch nodded at each command. "As far as I know, Burkhalter is still in camp. I don't think he'll be leaving any time soon."

"He'll be on Klink's case about Carter's escape, Colonel."

"Not if he's too concerned about himself. While I'm gone, drug his food. Just enough to keep him sick and in bed. I don't want him to question Klink without me there to get him out of it."

"You think that's a good idea?"

"It'll do." As much as he wanted to focus solely on Carter, he had to keep Klink safe too. He didn't want to come back to camp only to find a new Kommandant had taken over the place. "All right, get to it, Kinch."

"Right." Kinch and Hogan went their separate ways, Kinch hobbling towards the boys in forgery while Hogan made his way back to the cooler.

"Olsen?" Hogan called as he squeezed through the narrow passage leading to Olsen's cell. Getting in and out of the cooler was always a pain. He wasn't even sure the sergeant was in there.

"Yeah, Colonel?" Olsen replied from the other side. There was a scraping sound as he pulled back the heavy stone door that covered the entrance to the tunnels.

"Get down here, would you," Hogan called, wiggling back out of the passage. He got to his feet and straightened his jacket, brushing off the bits of dirt that clung to it. A moment later, Olsen joined him.

"Were you in there the whole time?" Hogan asked curiously. He had thought Olsen was already gone when Schultz had brought him back from Klink's office.

"I needed a nap, sir," Olsen admitted. Then added needlessly, "The cots in the cooler aren't that comfy, but I figured it was safer to sleep there than the tunnels. What's up, Colonel?"

"We're going out again, Olsen."

"Where we headed?" Olsen asked as he fell in step and followed Hogan through the tunnels.

"The Front."

"The front?" Olsen repeated, coming to a stop. "Why?"

"We're picking up penicillin from an aid station. London won't deliver."

Olsen soaked in the news and then nodded. "Just as well, sir. I've always been a lousy tipper."


	17. Determined Words

Dressed in German uniforms, Hogan and Olsen snuck out the tunnel entrance and dodged into the woods. Breaking out in daylight was always far riskier than at night. The patrols Klink had sent out in search of Carter added to the problems. The two men had to be extra cautious as they made their way through the dense foliage.

There was, however, one advantage to the patrol. When Hogan and Olsen reached the road, there was an unguarded truck just waiting to be stolen.

At the edge of the forest, Hogan waited and scanned up and down the road. No Germans in sight. Motioning for Olsen to stay put, Hogan slid down the bank and onto the road below. Still on guard in case any Germans appeared, he crept over to the truck and slid into the driver's seat. When he had the truck started, he waved Olsen over.

Olsen slid down the embankment and darted to the truck. As soon as he was in, Hogan took off.

"Krauts even left us a full tank," Hogan noted as he looked at the fuel gauge.

"That was nice of them," Olsen replied as he nestled back in his seat. "How long do you think until we reach the lines?"

"A day. Day and a half," Hogan guessed. Then added seriously, "We're not stopping, Olsen. Not if we can help it. We're pushing right through. Get some sleep; we'll trade off in a few hours."

"Right, Colonel." Olsen pushed his cap over his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. "Colonel?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Yeah?"

"Suppose we don't make it back in time?"

"We will," Hogan replied firmly. "We've got to."

* * *

After a long battle, sheer exhaustion finally won the war. Not long after Colonel Hogan left, Potter had found himself a cozy corner to sit in and had fallen asleep. He honestly felt as if he could sleep for days. And he probably would have too, if a small voice hadn't broken through the gates of his slumber land.

"Doc?" The voice was weak, but it was enough to wake Potter. "Doc?" Upon recognizing the voice, Potter instantly jumped to his feet. Ignoring his stiff body's protests, he scrambled to Carter's side. The sergeant was awake and looked surprisingly alert all things considered.

"Why hello there," he greeted. "When did you wake up?"

"While ago, I think," Carter answered, his words slurring together. "Fell asleep. Woke up again... I think."

"How do you feel?" It sometimes seemed like such a silly question to ask a patient. As if he would feel anything but miserable.

"Back hurts."

"That doesn't surprise me. I'll get you some morphine, but you'll just have to hold on for a minute. I need to check something."

Potter moved to the end of the table, grabbing what passed for forceps on the way, and uncovered Carter's feet. "Feel that?" he asked as he pinched Carter's toe in the clamp.

"Mmm?"

Potter frowned and pressed a bit harder on the clamp. "I asked you if you felt that."

"Ow," Carter protested feebly. "That doesn't make my back hurt less. Just makes my toe hurt more."

Potter sighed in relief. So far, so good. That was one less thing to worry about.

"Did you… say something about morphine?" Carter asked, interrupting Potter's thoughts.

"Coming up," Potter assured him. From the supplies Wilson had left with him, Potter grabbed a vial of morphine and filled a syringe. After he gave the shot, Carter sighed and visibly relaxed. "Better?"

"Mmmhmmm."

"Good. Listen, I think some of your buddies will want to see you. You up for it?" Carter didn't really answer, but the sound he gave was positive enough. "All right just sit tight, son. I'll go round them up."

Potter went to the doorway and poked his head out. No one was in sight. "Hello?" he called. "Anyone out there?"

Wilson appeared round the corner. "Colonel Potter. I was just coming to look in on you. Everything all right?"

"Dandy. He's awake. Would you go find his buddies?"

"Sure thing." Wilson said as he ducked back around the corner. It wasn't too long before he was back, three men following closely behind him.

"How is he?" the men asked in unison. It was almost enough to make Potter laugh, but he curbed the impulse. After all, the situation was still serious and they had every right to be concerned.

"Wilson said he was awake," Newkirk continued. "Did you check… I mean… Is he?" He squirmed as if he didn't want to say his fears aloud, just in case that made them come true.

"On that front, I have good news. He can feel his toes," Potter announced. The other men let out a collective sigh. "I figured you want to see him. Don't expect much though. I just gave him some morphine."

"Do not worry. When you have known Carter for as long as we have, you learn not to expect much even in the best of times," LeBeau countered with a weak smile. "It is always nonsense."

Newkirk glared at LeBeau before pushing his way past the group. "Well, gents, looks like Sleeping Beauty woke up."

"Newkirk?"

"In the flesh, mate. Who did you think I was?" Newkirk asked as he took up a seat next to Carter.

"Dunno. You're kinda fuzzy."

"Well, you're half asleep, that's why. Open your eyes a bit and take a look." Carter peered through bleary eyes and groaned, causing Newkirk to tense. "What is it, mate? You all right."

"Was… before I looked at you."

There was a long moment of silence as Newkirk processed the answer. "I… I think I've been insulted!" he finally concluded in disbelief.

"I do believe you're right, old man," Kinch said in a phoney British accent as he gently pushed Newkirk aside. "Jolly good show, Carter."

"Kinch?"

"Yeah. How you feeling?"

"Cold."

"Do not worry," LeBeau said, patting Carter's hand. "I will make you my most delicious soup. That will warm you up."

"I'm not hungry."

LeBeau looked crestfallen, but recovered quickly and managed to force a smile. "When you are."

"Sure," Carter mumbled. He yawned and his eyes slid shut. "I'm kinda tired."

"Go to sleep, then, mate," Newkirk ordered gently. "We'll stay right here 'til you wake up again." Carter didn't answer, having already slipped back into unconsciousness. Newkirk turned to Potter. "Blimey, he looks awful."

"What did you expect?" LeBeau asked tersely. "But le colonel and Olsen will be back soon. Everything will turn out."

"You'd better hope so, LeBeau."

"Newkirk," Kinch warned. Newkirk just crossed his arm petulantly and glowered at LeBeau.

Colonel Potter had had enough. It wasn't going to help Carter any if these boys were at each other's throat. Were all of Hogan's men as stubborn as he was? What they needed was a good talking to. "Hold on, both of you!" Potter barked. "You too!" he said when Kinch opened his mouth. The sergeant quickly shut it again and straightened.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Potter began circling the little group. "Oh, you're a peck of pips, all right! Just when you all should be pulling together, you're doing everything you can to tear the other down! You really think you're helping by sniping at each other. Well let me tell you, you're not! I've had it to here with your bickering!" Potter sliced a hand in front of his neck.

"You don't understand," Newkirk started. "It's his fault-"

"Horse hockey! Just what is his fault?"

Newkirk's mouth flapped. Then, he tensed and balled his fists. "If it weren't for him, Carter would-"

"He would still be hurt!" LeBeau protested indignantly. "You are being-"

"Button it!" Potter hollered. LeBeau and Newkirk snapped to attention. "Now, you boys are going to get along, comprende? Make it an order- lieutenant colonel to corporals."

"Yes sir," the two corporals said in unison.

Potter softened slightly. "Good. Now, go get something to eat and grab a few z's." They were about to protest but Potter cut them off. "That's an order, boys."

Grudgingly, they saluted and left the room, keeping a careful distance away from each other. When they had left, Potter let out a sigh. "That went over like a lead balloon, didn't it."

Kinch gave him a sympathetic look. "Sorry, Doc. I know you're trying to help, but chewing Newkirk out is just going to make him more obstinate. Don't worry; we'll get out of this, Doc." He moved over to Carter and placed his hand over his. "We've got to."


	18. Checkpoints

Hogan cursed under his breath, rousing Olsen from his sleep. The sergeant yawned, stretched and rubbed his eyes. "What's up, Colonel?" he asked.

"Road block up ahead," Hogan answered sourly. He didn't have the patience for this. Still, it wouldn't do to blow past it and have half the German Army after him, so he slowed the truck down as he approached. A guard stepped in front of the truck, holding his hand out until it came to a complete stop. Then he came to the driver's side of the truck and held out his hand.

"Papers," he said mechanically.

Hogan fished a set of orders out of his pocket and handed it to the guard. "We're headed for the front," he explained. The guard paid him no mind as he carefully inspected the papers. "And we're in a hurry," Hogan added tersely.

"I am sorry, Herr Colonel, but we must inspect every vehicle that passes. It won't take more then a few minutes." He motioned two other guards over. The others moved to the back of the truck while the first stayed put.

"What are you looking for?" Olsen asked curiously.

"An escaped prisoner," the guard answered.

Hogan arched an eyebrow. "So far from Stalag 13?" He turned to Olsen and chuckled in amusement. "I didn't think the camp Kommandant was that thorough."

"Not Stalag 13," the guard informed them. "Oflag 18. We have reason to believe Allied agents broke him out of the camp."

Hogan managed to muster up a shocked expression. "Allied agents?"

The guard nodded. "If we catch them, it will be a pretty feather in Kommandant Ruebel's cap."

"I hope for you that he shares the credit," Hogan replied wryly.

The guard snorted. "I as well." The other two guards came up then and nodded. "I am sorry for the delay, Herr Colonel."

"Not at all. Continue your fine work, Sergeant."

The guard nodded and stepped back, giving Hogan a salute. Hogan returned it and put the truck into gear.

"Well, that wasn't too bad," Olsen noted as the check point disappeared around the bend. Hogan just grunted. "If that's our only obstacle, we'll be at the front in no time."

"I wish I could share your optimism."

"Sometimes a little optimism can go a long ways, Colonel," Olsen pointed out.

Hogan looked the sergeant up and down. "You sure you're not Carter in disguise."

Olsen laughed. He settled his feet on the dash and put his hands behind his head. "I just figured enough has gone wrong lately sir. We deserve a break."

Hogan managed to return a grin. "We sure do."

Unfortunately, it didn't seem as fate was very forthcoming. All seemed to be going well. They managed to drive several hours without one hitch. But it wasn't too long before the sky darkened as black, menacing clouds moved in. Rain started falling, forming great puddles on the road. The wipers were practically useless as the rain pelted against the windshield, obscuring Hogan's view of the road. He had to slow the truck down a good deal for fear of skidding off the road.

Suddenly, there was a loud thump and the truck lurched forward before coming to an abrupt stop. Hogan stepped on the gas. The tires span ineffectively in the deep mud.

"Olsen."

"Right." Olsen flipped his collar up to protect himself from the rain and jumped out of the cab. Putting all his weight into it, he pushed against the back of the truck while Hogan pressed on the gas. Fifteen minutes later, they were still stuck in the mud. Olsen wiped the sweat off his brow and came up to Hogan's side of the truck. He was covered in mud. "I'll trade you?" he asked hopefully, as he tried to regain his breath.

"Sure." Hogan hopped out of the driver's seat. Olsen wearily took his place.

"I don't think we're going to get anywhere, Colonel," Olsen sighed. Hogan ignored him and moved to the back of the truck. He wasn't going to let a little mud stop him. He couldn't let it stop him. There was too much to lose if he didn't get that penicillin.

The pounding rain soaked right through Hogan's clothes and sent plashes of mud onto his pant legs. Hogan struggled to find a good footing on the slippery ground. With all his might, he pushed against the back of the truck. The tires span and squealed, spraying mud everywhere.

It was hopeless, and he knew it, but Hogan wasn't about to give up just yet.

"I'd rather not walk to the front!" he shouted up at the sky. A flash of lightning answered him.

Hogan gritted his teeth. "Come on," he growled as he pushed. "Come on! Move!"

Suddenly, Hogan lost his footing and his feet came right out from behind him, sending him face first into a deep puddle of mud. A moment later, the truck engine cut off. Hogan picked himself off the ground and found Olsen coming round the back.

"You and your optimism."

"Sorry, sir. I'm new at it," Olsen apologized sheepishly. "Now what?"

As he thought, Hogan vainly tried to wipe the mud off himself. "Now? We walk."

"All the way to the front?" Olsen exclaimed sceptically.

"Eventually, we'll come across a car we can steal," Hogan replied as he started off down the road.

Olsen lingered by the truck. "Eventually," he muttered before jogging to catch up to Hogan. He slipped in the mud and nearly fell forward, but Hogan caught his arm and held him up. "Thanks."

"The last thing I need is for you to fall and break your neck, Olsen. Come on, let's get going."

The two prisoners kept up a steady pace as they made their way down the road. It wasn't fair, Hogan mused. He didn't have time for all these obstacles. Carter was counting on him. His team was counting on him. If he didn't get back in time, the operation would never be the same. Sure, he could find someone to take over Carter's job as the demolitions expert on the team (though Hogan doubted he would ever find anyone who was quite as enthusiastic about explosives), but Carter himself couldn't be replaced.

Hogan willed himself not to imagine what it would be like without Carer. He couldn't. Carter was going to be fine. Somehow, he and Olsen were going to get to the front, get that penicillin and bring it back. All in record time.

Not to far from the truck, Olsen and Hogan turned a corner. Down the road, much to Hogan's relief, there was a checkpoint.

"Never thought I'd be happy to see one of those," Hogan said, feeling a weight come off his shoulders.

As they approached the checkpoint, a guard stepped out of his shelter and motioned them forward before ducking back out of the rain. Hogan and Olsen darted over and stood under the eaves of the shed, out of the rain. Two guards were huddled inside the small space.

"Herr Colonel?" one asked, as if waiting for some sort of explanation.

"Our truck is stuck in the mud, not too far down the road," Hogan explained. "We need help to push it out."

"We cannot leave our post, Herr Colonel," the guard said, peeking past Hogan at the rain. He shivered and rubbed his hands together.

"It is an order, Corporal," Hogan growled. "I am in a hurry. I must get to the front immediately."

"But our post," the other guard whined.

Hogan glared at them. Both stepped back against the wall, quaking in fear. "If you do not come and help, I will make sure the next post you walk is a snow-covered one on the Russian Front."

That got them. Whatever reservations they might have had about going out in the rain were forgotten as they quickly offered Hogan a salute and scurried past him. Hogan lingered as the guards waited outside.

"Herr Colonel? You are in a hurry?" one reminded timidly after a moment.

"I am." And with that, Hogan ducked out from under the shelter and started down the road.

"We should make them walk back to their post," Olsen muttered to Hogan as they walked a few paces behind the guards.

Hogan gave Olsen a shocked looked. "That would be mean, Olsen."

"Sorry, Sir. I don't know who I could've learned that from."

Hogan snorted and managed a small smile. "Just go and help push the truck out, Olsen."

Olsen fired off a salute and jogged up to the truck, where the guards already were. Hogan climbed into the cab and turned over the engine. With Olsen and the guards pushing behind, Hogan stepped on the gas.

"Come on, come on," Hogan pleaded. Suddenly the truck lunged forward. Hogan pressed on the brakes, stopping it again.

Olsen came up to the passenger side. "We're out," he announced as he pulled himself in.

"Good." Hogan breathed a sigh of relief. Poking his head out the window, he saw the two guards standing to the side. "Get into the back," he shouted. The guards exchanged a surprised look before quickly scrambling into the back.

"I didn't know you were such a softy, Colonel," Olsen said with a wry smile.

Hogan's lips twitched. "I was just imagining Carter saying how it wouldn't be very nice- after all, they did get us out."

"Yeah, he would say that, wouldn't he."

When they approached the check point, Hogan slowed the truck just enough for the guards to safely jump out before speeding up again. In the side mirror, he saw the two guards dart back into their shed.

"They didn't even ask to see our papers," Hogan mused.

"I think you scared them with the whole Russian Front routine," Olsen replied. "How long do you think it'll take us, Colonel?"

"Now?" Hogan glanced at his watch. "Five, six hours, maybe."

"Is that factoring in any more obstacles?" Olsen asked.

Hogan scowled. "No. But there aren't going to be anymore. We've had enough already."

Olsen winced and looked up as if expecting lightning to strike them. "You said it this time, Colonel, not me."


	19. My Kind of Town

Hogan woke up as he felt the truck slow down and come to a gradual stop. "What is it now?" he asked as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Where ever they were, thick forest surrounded them and the narrow road in front of them was a muddy mess. Heavy black clouds still hung in the sky, pelting the earth with fat rain and thunder rolled in the distance. Hogan glanced at his watch. Three o'clock. In the afternoon? Had they really travelled that long?

"Out of gas, Colonel," Olsen reported.

Three in the afternoon, Hogan decided at the news. Though the report wasn't welcome, it wasn't much of a surprise either. They had been travelling for almost a solid day. He wondered briefly how Carter was holding up. It would take them that long to get back, and that didn't include the time it would take to get through the lines.

"Let's start walking," Hogan ordered. He took a second to stretch before opening his door and climbing out of the cab.

Olsen joined him and flipped up his collar. "Now I know how those guys in the infantry feel. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't raining," he grumbled. A loud rumbling answered him. It took a moment for Hogan to realize it wasn't thunder but artillery.

"Well, if we had to run out of gas, we couldn't have picked a better place," Hogan said. Olsen just grunted. "That's not thunder, that's artillery."

"Can't be more than five, six miles, you think?" Olsen said, cocking his head to the side as he listened.

Hogan nodded and picked up his pace a little. "We should run into some German traffic pretty soon, maybe we can hitch a ride."

"Yeah, but which way will they be going?"

"Not sure, but this is one time when I want to Germans to be going forward, not retreating."

The further they walked, the louder the artillery became until they could see bright flashes through the trees. With the extra light, Hogan could barely make out the outline of a German tank, covered in netting. Well, this was about as close to the front as they could get.

Suddenly, a burst went off no more than twenty feet away. Hogan pushed Olsen off the road and into the ditch and jumped in after him. "That was close. You okay, Olsen?"

"Still in one piece," Olsen said. Another explosion went off across the road. A spray of dirt and wood chips sailed over and landed in the ditch, splattering mud on the two men. "Now what, Colonel?" Olsen asked over the din of the explosions. "I'm all for saving Carter, but it won't do any good if we get blown to bits."

"It can't last too much longer." As soon as he said it, the explosions died off. Olsen was about to get up, but Hogan pulled him back down. "Hold it. That was just a warm-up. Now the shootin' starts." Cautiously, Hogan climbed up the bank, motioning Olsen to follow him. Small fires burned in a few spots, casting a dim glow through the trees. "See, look." He pointed as a German soldier crawled out of a foxhole and dodged behind a tree.

Olsen nodded and slid back into the ditch. "So, what? Do we join them?" he asked, tugging at his German uniform. "Or keep going?"

"Now we just someplace to sit it out where we won't get shot at. The flak's stopped, Olsen and now they're sending in the fighters." As if to prove his point, the sound of tanks came from down the road. Hogan hit Olsen's arm and pointed up the bank before climbing back out of the ditch. Together, they ducked between trees until they found a foxhole. Three German soldiers lay lifelessly inside. Olsen pushed one aside as he slipped in and scrunched his nose.

"Maybe we ought to find another one. Doesn't look like it did these guys much good."

"Just keep your head down."

"I know I said I was going to try and be optimistic, but this isn't a place for an airman," Olsen said as he pressed himself against the dirt.

"Noted."

Hogan peered over the side. Around them, German soldiers had taken up their places. He could make out one or two tanks along with a few artillery batteries. Not too far off, a few soldiers were setting up a machine gun at their hole, while another loaded a Panzerschreck.

An Allied column of tanks was making its way down the road, the squeaking of their tracks filling the air. Hogan's heart raced as the whole forest seemed to tense. The first tank's turret turned and let off a shot into the trees.

The Germans did nothing. They would probably wait until the column was a little further in. Then they would take out the lead tank, thereby blocking the road.

Sure enough, when the first tank was farther down the road- almost directly across from Hogan and Olsen- the Germans let off their shots. The tank exploded in a flash of flames, grinding the column to a halt. The tanks behind started firing into the trees. Hogan pushed Olsen low into the foxhole. Another tank was hit and soon, machine gun fire ripped through the trees.

Hogan peeked over the side. A troop truck had come up behind the column and American soldiers jumped out, taking cover at the side of the road.

"All right, now we join in," Hogan said. He grabbed a rifle from one of the dead Germans and tossed it to Olsen before taking one for himself. He fired a shot at the Germans in the next foxhole. He missed, but it was enough to grab their attention. Hogan fired another bullet, leaving no mistake at who was shooting at them.

"I don't think they appreciated that," Olsen said when the Germans returned fire. "Here." He passed Hogan a grenade. Hogan tossed it over and ducked. There was a shout of surprise, followed by an explosion. A quick peek over the edge showed smoke rising from the foxhole.

"Got another one of those?" Hogan asked.

Olsen pointed to the dead Germans. "Have at 'em," he said as he fired off a shot.

Hogan grabbed the remaining grenades- six in all- and lobbed them one at a time over the side while Olsen fired his rifle. "Hold it, sir," Olsen yelled before Hogan could throw the last grenade. "We're pushing in now; you'll hit our guys."

Sure enough, Allied soldiers were charging into the bush, ferreting out the remaining Germans. Eventually, the clatter of gunfire ceased as the Germans crawled out of their hiding places, hands above their heads. Orders were shouted on the road as the Allies cleared off the damaged tanks.

Hogan sighed and fells back against the dirt. Olsen sunk down beside him and pushed his helmet off his head, running his fingers through his hair. "Well, that wasn't so bad," Hogan finally said. Olsen just shot him an incredulous look, making Hogan laugh. He grabbed Olsen's shoulder and shook him. "Come on, admit it."

Olsen managed a small smile. "All right, it wasn't too bad. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna be transferring out of the Air Force anytime soon." They shared a small laugh and Hogan let himself relax for a moment. It would be a piece of cake from now on. They just had to find whoever was in charge, borrow a jeep and get to the 47th Evac.

Hogan was about to get up but the sound of a gun cocking stopped him. He and Olsen looked up to see two American soldiers standing over them, guns aimed and ready to shoot.

"Well, lookie here, Bradley. Two Krauts. Hey, and one of them's an officer."

The second American whistled. "Hoo boy, big one too. Bet he's a Major, at least," he said, a thick southern accent coating his words.

"He's a colonel," Olsen corrected. He got up and brushed himself off. "And we're-" He stopped as the first American stepped forward and put his gun to Olsen's chest.

"Hold it, Fritz, don't move."

Olsen stiffened, his eyes darting to Hogan. "Colonel?"

"All right, take it easy," Hogan said as he too got to his feet. The second American, Bradley, turned his gun to him. "We're American."

Bradley snorted. "Then what's with the Kraut uniform?"

"We stole them," Olsen answered. "We're escaped prisoners. Stalag 13."

"You hear that, Holder? Escaped prisoners. Stalag 13," Bradley said, sounding impressed.

"Ooooh, escaped prisoners. American," Holder replied. Olsen sagged in relief as Holder lowered his rifle a bit. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Holder moved aside and let Olsen climb out. Then, he raised his rifle and brought it down on the back of Olsen's head. With a grunt, Olsen fell forward onto the ground. Hogan let out of a cry of surprise, which brought the Americans' guns to him. "Bet they're spies," Holder concluded. "Ain't that right, Fritz?"

"In German uniform?!" Hogan cried. "If we were spies, we'd be in American uniforms."

"If you were Americans, you'd be in American uniform too," Holder reasoned.

Hogan shot a glance up to the sky. He didn't believe this! "Listen, we're Americans. Look, I've got my dog tags right here." Hogan fished his American dog tags out from his coat and handed them over. Bradley grabbed them suspiciously and looked them over.

"How do we know you didn't just steal these?" Bradley asked. He threw them back at Hogan. Hogan balled a fist, feeling anger rise in his chest. He'd come too far to let two dumb guys from his own side stop him. "All right, Fritz, if you're really American, what's the capital of Illinois?"

"Springfield," Hogan answered. "Look, I'm not a German, I'm an American prisoner of-"

"Wrong!" Bradley interrupted. "Everyone knows the capital of Illinois is Chicago. You shoulda done your homework, Fritz."

"Wait a minute, Bradley," Holder said. "Chicago ain't the capital."

"Yeah it is," Bradley argued.

"No it ain't. The Kraut's right. It's Springfield."

"You don't know nothing, Holder," Bradley growled. "It's Chicago. I been there!"

"You ain't been nowhere! Springfield is the capital. Go back to the first grade, Bradley and study up! How'd you ever get to be a sergeant?!"

Hogan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Guys."

"By not taking guff from privates! I know what I'm talking about!" Bradley said, ignoring Hogan. Hogan took the opportunity to climb out of the foxhole and creep away. "'Sides, even if you're right, it don't make this Kraut an American."

"Maybe we should ask him something else," Holder said. He turned back to the foxhole. "Hey! He's gone!" He backhanded Bradley's arm. "Look what you did! He's gone!"

Hogan came up behind the two and tapped Bradley on the shoulder. Bradley whirled around and was met with Hogan's fist in his nose. The force knocked Bradley backwards into the foxhole. Holder fumbled with his gun but Hogan was quicker and levelled his Luger at him.

"You are a Kraut!" Holder cried as he slowly raised his hands.

"Fine, whatever. I need to get to the 47th Evac. And if I have to go through you to do it, I will," Hogan growled as he cocked the trigger on his gun. These two were wasting his time- Carter's time. If Holder tried to stop him, he would shoot.

A look of pure fear crossed Holder's face. It was short-lived though and was quickly replaced with a smug smirk. "Better turn around, Fritz."

The hair on the back of Hogan's neck stood up and he slowly turned. His Luger slipped from his hand and splashed into the mud as he sagged in defeat. Three more soldiers were there, their rifles aimed at him.

Great.


	20. One or Many

It had been a long night. Or day. Potter wasn't sure which. He was sure, however, that it had been a long time and with each passing hour, his patient just got worse. Fever had taken a tight hold of Carter and was sucking the very life from him. And there wasn't a blessed thing Potter could do about it. He had already given Carter the pathetically small amount of penicillin Wilson had had on hand. It wasn't nearly enough. Now he just had to wait for Hogan to get back. And Potter was quickly losing hope that he would be in time.

There was still no word from Hogan. Sergeant Kinchloe had assured him that once Hogan had reached the 47th Evac and had the penicillin in hand, he would radio them. That hadn't happened yet so however long he had been gone, it would take at least that much time to get back.

Carter didn't have that much time. Potter doubted he even had half that much time. His temperature was already hitting the roof and it was just going to get worse.

Potter hung his head and sighed. In his lap was a basin of cool water and a cloth. Potter took the cloth and wrung it out. It was like trying to sweep the ocean back with a broom, he thought as he wiped Carter's sweaty face. It was pointless and impossible.

"There has to be something we can do," Potter muttered. "Hogan should've turned you over to the Germans in the first place."

"We couldn't do that," a voice said from behind him. Potter glanced over his shoulder to see Kinch standing in the doorway.

"Why not?" Potter demanded. He looked up at the dirt ceiling and dim lights. "Why did you bring him down here? He'd have been better off in a hospital."

"Yeah maybe. But we couldn't take the chance. He was in German uniform. They could've found out he was really American and shot him as a spy."

Potter snorted. "It was a chance I would've taken."

"You might've but we couldn't. If the Germans found out Carter was American, they would ask questions, find out where he came from. It would put the whole operation at risk. And the work we do is more important than any one of us. We knew going in that it would be dangerous and there was a chance we wouldn't make it through the war."

"Well, I hope you can live with that justification because he hasn't got a prayer down here."

"We will." Kinch stood and turned away from Carter. "If the Germans tracked Carter back here, the whole camp would've been rounded up. Our Underground contacts would've been at risk. There were just too many more lives to consider than his."

Potter sat in silence, soaking up Kinch's words. He shouldn't have said anything to him. It had obviously been a hard decision to make, but, Potter realized, it had been the right one. Hogan's options had been few and whichever one he picked, Carter's chances were slim. At least this way, there would only be one casualty.

"If it had just been the colonel's life or mine and Newkirk's and LeBeau's, we would've risked it. But there are too many other guys we've got to watch out for and-"

"You don't need to explain, son. I'm sorry I brought it up. Any word from Hogan?"

Kinch shook his head. "None. He should've reached the front by now though."

Potter's mouth twitched. "Then he should be calling soon?"

"Yeah. He will. Soon. I'll go and wait."

"Hold up, son," Potter said, getting to his feet. He handed Kinch the basin of water. "I've been meaning to go for a walk and stretch these old legs of mine. Why don't you sit. I'll keep watch at the radio."

Kinch hesitated but took the basin. "All right. But if he calls, don't touch anything. Give me a shout and I'll hobble over as fast as I can."

"Will do."

Potter waited until Kinch had settled himself beside Carter before slipping out the door. He quickly made his way down the hall to the radio room. "All right, Hogan," he said to the radio, "I'm waiting. Get the lead out and hurry up."


	21. A Bright and Shining Moment

Hogan was herded into the back of a truck with a dozen other prisoners and Olsen was tossed in after him. Hogan knelt beside him and checked him over. The sergeant had a nice sized lump on the back of his head, but it probably wasn't too serious. Or maybe it was. In fact, it was probably bad enough to get Olsen into a hospital!

"Hey, you can't treat us like this!" Hogan yelled. Bradley and Holder just rolled their eyes. "According to the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention, all prisoners must have access to medical treatment."

"He is right," another prisoner piped up.

Bradley gingerly touched his nose, which was slightly askew and bloodied, and scowled. "We'll treat ya however we want, Fritz. Now shut your traps and sit down."

Hogan grimaced and took his seat. Bradley and Holder shared a triumphant look before jumping in. They each sat on the end of a bench, their guns aimed at their prisoners.

"Barbarians," the German beside Hogan grumbled. Hogan snorted. Holder and Bradley weren't going to win any prizes for their manners, but they were far better than the Krauts who had captured him when he had been taken prisoner for the first time.

"Well, you might as well get used to us," Holder said. "You're going to a nice, cozy prison camp in the States."

"I am not!" a prisoner growled. "I am General Salzmann! I will be traded for one of your generals within a week!"

Bradley snorted. "Yeah, okay. Hey, Holder, who caught the general?"

Holder shrugged. "I think it was someone in Muir's unit."

"Damn. They get all the luck, don't they? All we got was a colonel."

Holder laughed and flicked a bit of mud at Hogan. "Don't you know, Bradley, he ain't even a Kraut. He's American!"

Hogan stiffened and cast a glance towards General Salzmann. There was no way for Hogan to keep track of him once they got to where they were going. If Salzmann found out who he was and was then exchanged, then it could possibly spell trouble in the future. Hogan had to be careful with what was said.

"Oh right, I remember. An escaped prisoner of war."

Hogan managed a tight smile. "Unfortunately, you Americans are smarter than you look. Of course, you'd have to be."

Bradley grinned in pride and puffed out his chest. "You dope!" Holder cried after his own smile had faded away and Hogan's words sunk in. "He just insulted us!"

"Hey, yeah! You better watch what you say to us, Fritz!"

Hogan held up his hands in surrender. "I am sorry. It was a foolish thing for me to try. You're not going to let me get away with claiming I'm an American," Hogan said with a pathetic sigh.

"Darn right!"

Hogan sighed again as if that had sealed his doom. "You've already figured out I'm a spy. You'll probably take me directly to one of your generals so I can be interrogated for important information."

"Which you don't have!" General Salzmann barked. "None of us have any information for you American dogs."

"Sure I do!" Hogan insisted. "Lots of information! And I'll give it to you if you'll just make sure I get exchanged too!"

"I will see to it that you are charged with treason," Salzmann warned.

"You'd be wise to think about giving them some information, General," Hogan said. He tapped a finger towards Bradley and Holder. "You don't know what they might do to you. They're monsters!"

Holder looked offended. "No we ain't!" he protested. "We're the good guys."

"Oh sure! Good guys don't keep a wounded prisoner from going to a hospital," Hogan said, gesturing to Olsen's prone figure. "They make sure even the enemy is taken care of."

"I didn't hit him that hard," Holder insisted.

"Oh sure. Look how pale he is. He's probably in shock. He'll probably die and then _I'll_ have to write a letter to his poor wife. I can just see her now, opening that letter with all eight children gathered around her knee. Poor Herman, the oldest, will have to support the family by working in the factories and he's only five. And then _you_ guys will probably bomb that factory. Poor, poor Helga. First her husband, then her son."

At this point, Bradley was almost in tears. "Aw geez, stop it will ya. We'll get him to a hospital. There's one not too far off. What's it called? The 40th Evac? 45th?"

"47th?" Hogan suggested.

Bradley snapped his fingers and nodded. "That's it. Yeah, we'll take him there."

"Bless you. You American's aren't so bad after all."

Both Holder and Bradley were looking pretty proud with themselves. But then, Holder's face fell. "Hey, wait a minute!"

"What is it, Holder?" Bradley asked.

"After he punched you, he told me he had to get to the 47th Evac. He's tricking us, Bradley. He _wants_ to go to the 47th Evac! He's probably an assassin or something and he wants to knock off a patient there!"

Bradley looked confused, then angry. "You mean he made all that up?"

"He sure did. I bet there ain't no Helga or Herman!"

"What a lousy thing to do!"

Hogan sighed. "They are too clever," he complained to Salzmann.

Salzmann snorted sceptically. "No. You are simply just as much of an idiot as they are."

"You sure are!" Bradley said. "Wait a minute." He mouthed Salzmann's words. "Hey!"

Salzmann rolled his eyes. "And this is why we will win the war."

The rest of the trip was made in relative silence, only broken briefly when Olsen woke up. He complained about his head and asked for medical attention but Holder and Bradley weren't buying it. Eventually, Olsen gave up and assured Hogan that he was all right.

Eventually, they pulled into a crumbling city. Allied soldiers marched through the streets which were lined with tanks and jeeps. Finally, they came to a stop in front of one of the few untouched buildings. Probably a hotel turned into a temporary command post, Hogan judged from what he could see of it.

Bradley and Holder jumped out of the truck and were joined by several other Americans. "All right, you and you," Bradley said, pointing to Hogan and Salzmann, the only officers that had been captured. "Get out."

Hogan and Olsen exchanged worried looks. "Where are you taking the others?" Hogan asked.

"They'll be taken to a processing centre," an American lieutenant in the group explained. "But you two will be questioned here first."

"Hey, wait a minute. You can't do that!"

"You wouldn't be put in the same prison camp anyway," the lieutenant explained slowly, as if he were talking to a child. "We separate officers from the enlisted men. Now say good-bye and get out."

"Yeah, but-"

Bradley didn't let him finish. He jumped into the back of the jeep and grabbed Hogan's arm and practically threw him out the back. Hogan landed with a splash into a puddle. Holder jerked him to his feet and pushed him towards the hotel door.

Olsen scrambled to the back of the truck and poked his head out. "Colonel?!"

"Just hold tight, Olsen."

"Hey, get back into the truck," Holder ordered before turning to the other Americans. "Two of you better take over for me and Bradley. We've gotta explain something to the general before this one is interrogated."

"No can do," the lieutenant said, shaking his head. "You are supposed to go with the truck. What needs explaining?"

"We'd better tell it, sir," Bradley said. "Why don't you just hold the truck 'til we get back. We'll be back in a sec."

The lieutenant thought about it for a moment. "Yeah okay. Hurry up though. I want to get out of the rain."

"No problem." Holder grabbed hold of Hogan's arm and looked up at him fiercely. "All right, Fritz, get a move on."

Hogan silently nodded and glanced back at the truck. It was staying put for now. But he would have to do some fast talking with whichever general he was being taken to.

Hogan and Salzmann were led into the building and immediately, a British captain stepped forward. "What have were here? Jerry officers, eh? Good work, lads. We can get some useful information from them before our next assault. All right then, take them to the wine cellar. We'll keep them in there until we're ready for them."

"Sure thing, sir," Holder said, offering a salute. "But we've gotta talk to the general about this one," Holder said, pointing to Hogan.

"Oh? What about him?"

"He's been saying a lot of things, sir. We don't want you to accidentally leave something out. We'd better tell the old guy ourselves."

The captain didn't look impressed. "By 'old guy' I assume you mean your own General Barton?"

"Sure! He'll do!"

Hogan perked up at the name. General Barton? "Oh please," Hogan prayed silently, looking up at the ceiling. A General Barton had briefly been a prisoner at Stalag 13 before Hogan had 'captured' a German general and had swapped the two. It would just make up for all his rotten luck if it was the same Barton. "General Barton?" he asked his captors. "General Aloysius Barton?"

"Naturally. But, I say, how do you know that?"

"Well, I only know that he's the roughest, toughest, meanest general the Americans have! I'm not going to be interrogated by him am I? I'll crack for sure!"

General Salzmann snorted. "You would crack if the lowliest private were to interrogate you."

"Oh no, General, I've changed my mind. I'm proud to be German. I wouldn't squawk to anyone!"

"Haha, we will see about that," the captain said, waggling a finger in front of Hogan's face. "Why don't you take him to the general now?"

"Oh please, don't!" Hogan begged.

The British officer waved his hand dismissively. "Take him away. The general will get what we want from him in two seconds."

Holder and Bradley flanked Hogan and saluted.

"I warn you, Colonel," Salzmann hissed before he was led in the opposite direction. "If you talk, I will make sure you regret it."

"Don't worry, General. My lips are sealed," Hogan promised before being hauled off.

"Say, Holder?" Bradley said as they made their way through the building.

"Yeah?"

"You think the general will decorate us or something for catching this guy? He's probably pretty important."

"Of course he will! That's why I wanted to see the general personally."

"Good thinking, Holder. But, hey, I thought General Barton's in the Air Force."

"He is," Hogan said, interrupting their conversation. "Listen guys, you know I was joking about being an American. I'm not a spy. Please don't take me to the general."

"Too late, Fritz," Bradley said triumphantly. "Here we are."

The three of them stopped. A sign hung from the door in front of them reading 'General A. Barton.' Bradley lifted a fist and rapped on the door.

"Yeah. Come in."

Holder opened the door and pushed Hogan into the room. General Barton- the General Barton, Hogan noted with relief- was standing on the other end, his back turned to the three intruders as he stared intently at a weather charts and maps on the wall.

"General Barton? Private Holder and Sergeant Bradley reporting, sir. With a prisoner!"

"Prisoner?" Barton growled, not looking away from his charts. "What are you doing here with him? I'm not interested in prisoners. Take him down to interrogation."

"But, sir, there's something we've gotta tell you about this prisoner. He's a spy, sir. Or an assassin. We're not sure which."

"Unless he can tell me when this damn weather will clear up and I can get my planes off the ground, I don't want to hear it. Now take him away before I court-martial you both."

"Yes sir!" Holder said as he straightened and offered a salute. "Come on, Bradley."

"London said it would be five days before it might clear up, General," Hogan said before Bradley and Holder could take him off. Across the room, Barton tensed. "And these two are right about one thing- I am a spy."

Barton turned from his chart and narrowed his eyes at Hogan. Folding his arms across his chest, he shook a finger at him. "You look familiar. Hogan, isn't it? From Stalag 13?"

Hogan let out a relieved sigh. "Yes sir. I'm glad you remember. I can't tell you how glad I am that you remembered."

"Sir!" Holder piped up, understandably confused at the exchange. "Sir, that's what he told us when we captured him. He said he was an escaped prisoner from Stalag 13. But we didn't believe him, sir."

Hogan let Holder speak, knowing the private was just digging himself into a hole. He couldn't say it would pain him any if these two were court-martialled. "I did tell them, General," Hogan said when Holder had finished.

"Let go of him," Barton ordered sternly. Immediately, Holder and Bradley let go of him and stood at rigid attention. "He's one of us. What are you doing here, Hogan?"

"It's a long story, General and I don't have time to explain. I just need to get to the 47th Evac right away."

"Then get going. Sergeant?" Barton said, not taking his eyes off Hogan.

"Sir!"

"Get Colonel Hogan an American uniform and a jeep."

"But-"

"Now."

Hogan winced at the tone and was glad he was not on the receiving end of it. He had been dressed down by General Barton once already and that was enough for anyone.

For once, Holder and Bradley showed some good sense and hastily saluted. "Say, what about the other one that was with him?" Bradley asked on his way out the door.

"Bring him up here," Hogan ordered. "He needs a uniform too."

"Uh, sure," Holder said quickly.

"Halt." Bradley and Holder stopped in the doorway. General Barton strode up to them, face hardened into a scowl. "When an officer gives you an order, you salute, understood? Colonel Hogan is just that- a colonel."

"Yes sir!" The two enlisted men said in unison, first saluting General Barton and then Hogan. "Sorry, sir. We're going, sir. On the double, sir, on the double!" And with that, Bradley and Holder rushed out the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

Hogan watched them go and, after the door was shut, stood in stunned silence. How could anyone be that dumb?! "Might I suggest a transfer for those two, sir," Hogan said after a moment. "We'd win the war a lot faster if they were on the other side."

Barton didn't even crack a smile. Instead, he kept his critical gaze on Hogan. "You're a mess, Hogan," he said finally before turning on his heel and marching back to studying the maps on the wall. "No wonder they didn't believe you were an American officer."

Hogan looked down at his uniform. It was filthy and even torn in a few places. "I'm just giving it the respect it deserves, General. None."

"See that you treat your American uniform better," Barton ordered gruffly.

Hogan nodded. "I will, sir." He stood silently at the door, waiting for the general to continue.

"Well? You said you were in a hurry. Get going, Colonel. I'm busy."

"Yes sir." Hogan fired off a salute and left the room. He had the sneaking suspicion that, at the moment anyway, he was about as tolerable to the general as Bradley and Holder. Still, loveable or not, General Barton had saved him a lot of trouble.

He arrived in the lobby just in time to see Olsen take a jacket from Holder and then punch him right in the nose. Several soldiers in the lobby jumped to Holder's defence, guns all aimed at Olsen.

"Hold up!" Hogan called. His interruption only served to have a few of those guns turn to him.

"I say, what is the meaning of this?!" the British officer who greeted them earlier demanded. "You two! What are you doing, letting these prisoners wander around willy-nilly? Lock them up with the others!"

"Shoot. Wish we could, but they're one of us," Bradley explained.

"Two of us," Holder corrected as he picked himself off the floor and wiped a bit of blood from his nose.

"You can ask the general, Captain," Hogan said.

"Hmmph." The captain strode over to the front desk and picked up the phone. "Yes, get me General Barton. General? There's some Jerry here claiming he's an American. A Colonel-"

"Hogan," Hogan supplied.

"Yes, a Colonel Hogan. But I say, he just-" the captain had to pull the phone away from his ear. Hogan could hear Barton on the other end from where he stood. "Yes, of course." The captain looked just a little paler when he set the phone down. "Colonel Hogan, I suggest you change before you leave the building. There will be a jeep waiting for you."

"Here you are sir," Bradley said, offering Hogan a uniform. Hogan grabbed it.

"Thanks. Oh, and Private Holder? Sergeant Bradley?"

"Yes sir?"

"If we ever have the misfortune of meeting up again, let's just pretend that we don't know each other, huh."

"Yes sir!" The both saluted him and high-tailed it out of the hotel.

Hogan and Olsen didn't waste anymore time. As soon as they were changed into their new uniforms, they left the hotel, declining the offer to stay a while a eat. As promised, there was a jeep waiting on the street, complete with a driver.

"Colonel Hogan?" the driver called.

"That's me," Hogan confirmed as he climbed into the front seat. Olsen swung into the back.

"I'm supposed to take you to the 47th Evac?"

"Right. And step on it."

"Yes sir." The driver stepped on the gas and the jeep raced down the street.

Hogan couldn't help but smile as he leaned back in his seat. Finally! Finally something had gone right. "Smooth sailing from here, Olsen."

Olsen laughed. "I sure hope so, sir! Look-" Olsen pointed up to the sky- "it's even clearing up a little."

Hogan glanced up. Sure enough, though it was still raining, the clouds weren't quite as thick and the sun was even peeking through in some places. "Yup. Smooth sailing."


	22. Father, Dear Father

Hogan decided that, at the very least, his driver was going to be put in for a silver star. The kid had taken every short cut that could possibly exist between the command post and the 47th Evac. With the way he drove, Hogan wouldn't have been surprised if he had been a New York taxi driver in civilian life. Twenty minutes after leaving, the jeep pulled up to a small camp and came to an abrupt stop in front of one of the khaki tents.

"Here we are, sir, the 47th Evac," the driver announced.

"Good." Hogan hopped out of the jeep and took a look around. "Who's running this outfit?"

The driver just shrugged. "Don't know sir. I just got you here."

Okay, maybe the kid would only get a bronze star. Hogan scrunched his nose and patted the hood of the jeep. "All right, stay put. Olsen, you go that way, I'll look in here. See if you can root out the CO."

"Nickel to whoever finds him first?" Olsen asked as he jumped out of the jeep.

"Just go look, would ya?" Hogan growled. Things were going right, sure, but Hogan was coming to the end of his rope. He just wanted to get the penicillin and get home.

"Sure thing, Colonel," Olsen said quickly, giving Hogan a salute. He immediately turned on his heel and went off to the other side of the compound.

Hogan felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside as he stepped towards the tent in front of him and pulled open the flap.

Inside there were a dozen cots, each holding wounded men. The only other person in the room was a chaplain who sat next to one of the cots, muttering something to its injured occupant.

Hogan cleared his throat. "Padre?"

The chaplain glanced up at Hogan and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Yes?"

"I hate to interrupt, but can you tell me where I can find the CO?"

The chaplain thought for a moment. "I'm afraid not," he apologized. "I only just arrived here myself. But I do know that an ambulance came in not too long ago. All the doctors are probably in surgery."

Hogan grimaced at the news. "Well, can you tell me where his office is, then?"

"Oh dear. I'm afraid I can't do that either. But, wait a minute." The chaplain took a moment to pat the wounded soldier's hand before getting up and making his way to Hogan. "Oh my," the chaplain said when he was closer, whatever he had planned on doing now completely forgotten. "My son, you look like you've gone through the proverbial wringer. Maybe you should sit down for a while and I'll find the CO for you."

Hogan waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Thanks for the concern, Padre, but I don't have time. There's a war going on you know."

As if to illustrate his point, the rumble of a distant explosion sounded off. The chaplain cringed. "Yes, I know. I'm still getting used to it. Only a month ago I was in Philadelphia, and the closest I was to any fighting was at the boxing-"

Hogan held a hand up. He didn't have time to listen to the chaplain's ramblings. "Save it for your Sunday sermon, Padre. If you can't tell me where the CO is, then find me someone who can."

The chaplain looked crestfallen, but immediately recovered. "Of course. I don't want to be blamed for holding up the war." The chaplain slipped past Hogan and out the tent. Hogan followed him into the compound and a few minutes later, the chaplain had tracked down a nurse. "Lieutenant Bigelow," he called, causing a tall, redheaded nurse to stop in her tracks and look over her shoulder.

"Well, Father," she greeted as the chaplain came to her side. "Is anything wrong? One of the patients?"

"No, not at all," the chaplain assured her. "I just hoped you could tell me where the CO might be. This colonel is pretty anxious to see him."

"He just got out of surgery, Father," Bigelow informed him. "I'll take the colonel to him."

"You're a saint," the chaplain said cheerfully. He ducked his head shyly at Hogan. "God be with you, Colonel."

Hogan softened, if only for a moment. "Thanks, Padre." The chaplain nodded and scurried off. "Lead on, Lieutenant."

There weren't many tents in the camp, so it didn't take long for Bigelow to lead him to the right one. "Colonel Johnson?" Bigelow called as she pushed back the tent flap. She stepped aside for Hogan to come in.

Olsen was already in there, talking with a grey- haired colonel. They both looked up as Hogan and Bigelow came in, Olsen with a broad smile on his face.

"They've got it, Colonel!" Olsen announced. He stepped aside to reveal a large, unmarked crate laying behind him.

With a sigh of relief, Hogan quickly knelt beside it, his hands hovering over it as if he were afraid to touch it. "You sure it's penicillin?" he asked, looking up at Olsen.

"The colonel here says it is."

Hogan scrunched his nose. He wasn't going to just take some stranger's word for it. "Open it up, would you Olsen, and just double check." Hogan got to his feet, just as Olsen dropped to his knees. "Colonel Johnson?"

"That's me. We've been waiting for you. Papa Bear, isn't it?" Hogan nodded. "I was beginning to think you'd never come," the doctor said.

"That makes two of us," Hogan acknowledged. And a part of him still refused to believe that this was the end of it. Some of his fears were alleviated when Olsen opened the crate.

"It's the real deal, Colonel," Olsen announced. "There's a lot of it. Wilson won't have to worry about running out anytime soon."

"Good," Hogan muttered, casting a grateful glance upwards. Now, if he could just get it safely back to camp. "Colonel, I need to use your radio." He needed to call the camp and let them know he was on his way back.

"Right there," Johnson said, gesturing to the other side of the tent where a very complicated radio was set up. A sergeant sat at the desk. His arm was propped up on the back of his chair, cradling his head as he watched the conversation take place on the other side of the room. "Sergeant Pryor, warm the thing up."

"Shazam," the sergeant acknowledged as he popped a large bubble with the gum he was noisily chewing. He cranked up the radio. "Who am I calling?"

"HQ in London," Hogan said. "Can that thing transmit that far?"

"Have to route it through a few stops. Give me a sec." Pryor snapped another bubble. "Sparky to Red Dog. Come in Red Dog. Red Dog? Patch me through to Green Apple. Whaddya mean, you can't? Geez, I got a colonel breathing down my neck. Hurry up, would ya?" Pryor covered the microphone and snapped another bubble. "Gonna take a bit longer than I thought."

Hogan grimaced. He didn't have time to wait. "Got a pen?"

Pryor reached into his pocket and held it out. "Notebook too, sir."

Hogan took the offered items and scribbled down his message. "Make sure this gets to General O'Malley. He'll know what to do with it," Hogan instructed. It was far safer to have London contact Stalag 13 directly than to try and patch through a line to the camp from here.

"Roger that, sir."

"Colonel Johnson, thanks for keeping this safe for us."

Colonel Johnson laughed. "I didn't really have a choice in the matter. I was threatened with death before a firing squad if anything happened to that before you could pick it up."

A wry smile played on Hogan's mouth. Truth was, if the penicillin hadn't been there, Hogan might've set up the firing squad himself. But maybe that was what London had been getting at. "Well, thanks. Come on, Olsen." Hogan crouched down, grabbed one end of the crate and, together, he and Olsen lifted it up.

"You be careful with that, you hear," Johnson ordered.

"Don't worry, Doctor. I've come too far to let anything happen to this."


	23. The Doctor Delivers

"Goldilocks calling Papa Bear. Come in Papa Bear."

Potter was slumped in a chair with his hands resting in his lap and his feet propped up by the radio. His cap was pushed over his eyes and he was finally catching up on some much-needed sleep. When the radio came to life, he barely heard it. It wasn't until the call repeated itself for the third or fourth time that Potter roused himself enough to sit up straight.

"Goldilocks to Papa Bear. Come in Papa Bear."

Potter screwed up his face and studied the radio. How did this thing work? He raised a hand to turn one of the knobs but decided against actually touching it. It would be just his luck if he broke the damn thing.

"Don't hang up," Potter ordered the voice over the radio before getting to his feet. He held his hands up as if signalling the radio to stay put and then raced down the tunnel. "Sergeant Kinchloe," he called. He stopped, out of breath, outside the sewing room. Kinchloe, Newkirk and LeBeau who were all sitting around Carter- LeBeau and Newkirk with a chilly distance between them- looked up at his arrival.

"Colonel?"

"You're getting a call over the radio," Potter informed Kinch.

"Colonel Hogan?"

Potter shook his head. "No, Goldilocks. That's your contact in London, right?"

Kinch nodded as he rose to his feet. "Yeah. What does she want?"

Potter shrugged. "Better get a move on, son, before you miss her."

"Don't worry. She'll won't stop calling until I pick up," Kinch assured him before shuffling past.

Potter watched him go, noting with worry the sergeant's slow pace before he turned his attention back to the sewing room. He wondered briefly when the other two had joined Kinchloe. They probably slipped past him while he was snoozing. "Has he woken up at all?"

"About an hour ago," Newkirk said. "He jabbered on for a while about nothing and went off to sleep again."

"Wilson gave him a shot of morphine, Colonel," LeBeau added.

"You should've got me," Potter growled. Honestly. Carter was burning up with a fever and these two didn't think to inform the doctor of any changes in his condition?

"You were asleep, Colonel," LeBeau explained. "We didn't want to wake you."

"Patients come before anything else, Corporal," Potter barked. LeBeau's eyes widened and he nodded quickly. Potter sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry, son. I didn't mean to snap. I guess I really do need some shuteye."

"It's all right, Doctor. We're all a little on edge," Newkirk said.

"Right. It is making us _all_ snap at each other. Even without good reason," LeBeau added, throwing Newkirk a pointed look. Newkirk just grunted.

"Still haven't made up yet, huh? What's it going to take for you two boys to get along?"

Neither answered the question. Instead, they gave each other wary looks. Finally, Newkirk looked down at his hands in his lap. "Carter," he said quietly. "Healthy and whole."

Goldilocks was still calling when Kinch finally made it into the radio room. Each time the call repeated, it became a little more frantic and Kinch pushed himself to quicken his step.

"Papa Bear here, Goldilocks," Kinch called into his microphone before he eased himself into his chair.

There was a relieved sigh. "I was beginning to worry, Papa Bear. What took you so long?"

Kinch just shrugged, a useless gesture to make over the radio. "Sorry, Goldilocks," he apologized. "Do you have any news for me?"

"Good news, I'm happy to say," Goldilocks replied. "Papa Bear has picked up the porridge and is on his way back to the den."

Colonel Hogan had the penicillin. It felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders and Kinch slumped in his chair. "That is good news, Goldilocks," Kinch said. He wasn't sure whether to cry, laugh or just shout his gratitude to the ceiling. "It's the best news I've ever heard in my life."

"How long will it take for Papa Bear to return to the den?" Goldilocks asked.

Kinch checked his watch. It had taken over a day for this call to come. That meant it would take another day at least for Hogan to get back.

"Another day or so," Kinch reported. The relief he had felt with Goldilocks' report faded away and was replaced with hopeless dread. Twenty four hours was too long. Half that much would be too long. "Why?"

"Well, I ask because the weather's cleared up a bit," Goldilocks explained. "If you want, we may be able to send that plane up."

Hope sparked in his chest, but Kinch still took a moment to mull over the offer. Colonel Hogan had been adamant about solving this problem themselves without London. After all, London had gotten them into the mess to begin with. After Potter's chewing out, Hogan had relented and had called, only to have London back out. And now, they really didn't need London. Hogan had gone out and got the penicillin himself. How would the colonel react if Kinch went behind his back and got London to drop it, after all that effort?

Kinch shook the worry from his mind. At the moment, it didn't matter how Hogan would feel. London could drop the penicillin within hours, whereas it would take Hogan at least a day to come back. Carter was more important than pride, as Potter had pointed out earlier.

"Drop it, Goldilocks. We'll pick it up."

Colonel Potter looked at the thermometer in dismay. This wouldn't do at all. Carter was burning up. "What's the poop, Sergeant?" Potter asked when he heard Kinch come back into the room. The new had better be good or Potter would be forced to do something drastic. He wasn't sure what that drastic action would be, but whatever he came up with, it would be justifiable. He wouldn't allow himself to sit about helplessly as this boy slipped away anymore.

"Goldilocks says the weather cleared over the airfield. They sent a plane up. Should be here in an hour if the weather holds out," Kinch reported breathlessly.

"An hour? C'est manifique!" LeBeau cried, jumping up. "I will go pick it up!"

"Right. And you'll make a bloody mess of it, just like you done with everything else!" Newkirk scowled.

"I will not! I will bring the penicillin back!"

Newkirk got to his feet and towered over LeBeau. "Oh yeah? Just like you got Carter back? That was a bloody marvellous job you did with that!"

Potter forced himself between the two prisoners before either of them could swing a punch. "Hold it!" he said, pushing them apart. These two never learned, did they? How had Hogan held this group together for so long? "Boy, you really take the cake, don't you, Corporal Newkirk. The man's just trying to help. He'll do a much better job of getting that penicillin than you will."

"I can get that penicillin twice as fast as him," Newkirk argued.

"Not with that concussion. You're staying here, in the tunnels. Doctor's orders," Potter barked. Newkirk opened his mouth to protest. "And a colonel's orders too, capisce!"

"Capisce, sir," Newkirk grumbled as he sank back into his seat.

"All right Corporal LeBeau, get ready to go," Potter ordered.

"Oui, mon colonel! Right away!"

"You're going to need someone to go with you, LeBeau, to help carry it back," Kinch said, grabbing the little Frenchman before he could dart out of the room.

"I'll go with him," Potter said sternly. He needed to do something. And this was just drastic enough.

The three other men shifted uncomfortably. "You, sir?" Newkirk finally said. "I don't think that's such a good idea. Do you Kinch?"

"Well," Kinch started but Potter didn't give him a chance to finish.

"I'm going. I will personally see that _nothing_ happens to that penicillin."

"Oui, but Colonel, you are, well…" LeBeau squirmed. "That is, I do not think that you will be able to keep up with me."

"Mule fritters. I know what you're trying to say. And let me tell you, son, I'm not too old and I'll be damned if I'm put out to pasture before my time. I'll match you step for step and sneak for sneak!"

It didn't leave much room for argument. LeBeau deflated and nodded in defeat. "Ah, oui, Colonel. If you'll follow me, I will get you something to wear."

Ten minutes later, Potter and LeBeau were dressed head to toe in black and standing under the tunnel entrance. "You've got everything, LeBeau? Map, flashlight, compass?" Kinch asked.

LeBeau rolled his eyes. "Oui. I have done this before, Kinch. Successfully!" he added for Newkirk's benefit.

"Just keep the doctor safe, LeBeau," Newkirk said sternly, "and get that penicillin back here. There are still patrols in the woods, so be careful."

"Oui, I will," LeBeau swore. "I promise. Nothing will stop me."

"Lucky for us, the good doctor is regular army," Newkirk said in reply. "He'll see it gets done."

"We'll both get the job done," Potter amended with a growl and a pointed look to Newkirk.

"Listen, Doc, I don't think this is a good idea," Kinch protested one last time. "It's dangerous out there. With Carter's 'escape' there's going to be lots of patrols. It's not exactly a tiptoe through the tulips. You could be half as young as you are with years of field experience and it'd still be dangerous."

Potter nodded. "I can appreciate that son, but-" Potter sighed and reached a hand up and placed it on Kinch's shoulder. "But for the last day I've been sitting by, helpless, while that boy just gets worse and worse. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. But now there is something I can do and you've got to let me."

Kinch was silent. Finally he dropped his head and gently nodded. "All right, Doc. Just be careful, would you?"

"Thank-you. All right, time's a wasting. Corporal, lead on." Potter patted LeBeau's backpack and pointed up the ladder.

"Oui. We will be back before you know it, Kinch, Newkirk." And with that, LeBeau started up the ladder. Potter followed a short distance behind. "I am going first, Colonel. I will lift the hatch for you when it is safe."

Potter nodded and LeBeau carefully eased open the hatch. He shut it again, waited a few seconds, then opened it. Then he eased himself out of the tunnel, shutting the top when he was out. Potter climbed up to the top and waited in darkness, counting the seconds in his head. He had reached forty when the tunnel opened again. LeBeau reached an arm down and helped Potter lift himself out.

Immediately, LeBeau ushered Potter behind the tree trunk and hid behind it. After a searchlight had swept over them, LeBeau tapped Potter's arm and jerked his head towards the thick underbrush. Together, the darted away from the tree trunk and slipped into the forest.

Kinch had been right about all the patrols. They weren't out more than five minutes before LeBeau grabbed Potter and jerked him to the ground. He didn't make a noise as he pointed out a small group of German soldiers cutting through the brush.

When they had passed, LeBeau cautiously crept forward. Potter stuck to him like glue. Whatever LeBeau did, Potter aped him and soon, they found themselves safely on the edge of a clearing.

"The plane should be here any moment now," LeBeau said as he checked his watch. "I hope the weather held out over there."

Potter looked up at the sky. Because he had been stuck in the tunnel since Hogan had broken him out of Oflag 18 nearly two days before, he had no idea what the weather had been like up top. The last time he had seen the sky, it had been relatively clear. Now, it was littered with clouds that threatened to clump together to create a terrific storm.

"In the cavalry," Potter muttered, "we went out, rain, shine, snow and hail."

LeBeau just shrugged and the two waited in silence which was soon broken by the hum of an airplane overhead. LeBeau fished out his flashlight and pointed it up. He turned it on and off several times, signalling the plane their position. When the plane got closer, it dropped something out from the side. The package fell like a brick and Potter watched with baited breath until a chute opened. With its decent slowed, it gently floated to the ground. Above, the plane made a wide turn before it started back in the direction it came.

There it was, no more than fifty feet away. Penicillin.

Potter was about to dart out to get it, but LeBeau grabbed his arm and held him back. "Do not be so hasty. That plane might have caught the attention of a patrol." LeBeau craned his neck over the brush and looked around. "We must be careful," he said after he had inspected the area. "And quick."

They waited, neither making a sound. Finally, LeBeau deemed it safe and hit Potter's arm. "D'accord," he whispered. "Now we can-"

A twig snapped behind them and LeBeau immediately hit the dirt, bringing Potter down with him. German voices filled the air and a light shone through the trees. Potter held his breath as it swept past them. He pushed himself down as low as he could go. If he could, he would've melded with the dirt.

LeBeau cursed under his breath and pulled out his handgun. Potter mimicked him and held the gun in front of him on the ground. He dared to lift his head a little to get a peek at the enemy. A patrol of four men emerged from the brush, no more than ten feet away from the two prisoners, and started into the clearing towards the package.

"They've seen the crate," Potter hissed as he thumbed the safety on his gun. There was no way in hell he was going to let them take that penicillin. "Sorry Hippocrates."

LeBeau clasped a hand on his shoulder. "Wait," the little French corporal ordered sternly. Potter obediently loosened his grip on his gun.

Cautiously, LeBeau raised himself onto his hands and looked around. "I do not see another patrol," he whispered after he had lowered himself. He took another peek at the German patrol who were now crouched around the crate. "We must not let the Boche get that."

Without another word, LeBeau fired off a shot. The sound ripped through the clearing and was immediately followed by shouting. Before the patrol could react any further, LeBeau fired another shot. One of the Germans crumpled like a rag doll.

Potter hadn't seen action since the first war and for a moment, he could do nothing but watch as another German dropped to the ground. What was he doing? He was a doctor now, not a twenty-something cowboy!

The doubt, however, flew from his mind when the last two Germans started to return fire into the forest. Potter's heart suddenly crashed in his chest and adrenaline rushed through his veins and he raised his handgun and fired off a shot. It missed, of course. Potter had never really been a good shot. In fact, he couldn't even hit the broad side of a barn. But that didn't stop him from emptying his clip. His gun was clicking ineffectively for some time before Potter realized he was out of bullets. His hands frantically went to his belt as he searched for another clip. He had just grabbed one when he noticed there was no more shooting from either side.

With a feeling of dread, he looked over to LeBeau, fearing the corporal was dead. But the little Frenchman just looked back at him, gasping for breath as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "Are you all right?" they asked together.

"I am fine."

"Me too."

"Good." LeBeau said. He scanned the area. "It is safe now, but there will be more patrols coming to see what the trouble was. "We must hurry."

"Let's go."

Together, Potter and LeBeau darted from their hiding place and into the open field. The four dead Germans surrounded the crate and LeBeau pushed one aside with his foot. Even through the black loam, he paled several shades when he crouched down next to the crate. Potter joined him and saw blood splattered over the contents on the open crate.

"You okay, son?" Potter asked.

LeBeau gulped, licked his lips and nodded. "Oui," was the hoarse reply. "Is it penicillin?"

The box contained a few dozen smaller cartons surrounded by packing material. Potter threw some packing material over his shoulder and grabbed one of the cartons. Underneath the blood the word penicillin was stencilled in black. Just to make sure, Potter opened the carton and carefully dumped the contents into his hand. "It's penicillin all right," Potter reported. He held a vial up before putting them back in the carton. "I'll take half and you take half," he said as he slipped his backpack off his shoulder and filled it.

"There is so much," LeBeau marvelled as he grabbed the last few cartons and swept them into his bag. "Wilson will be very happy."

Potter grunted in agreement. There would be enough to see Carter through with enough to tend to Newkirk and Kinch. Good. He hadn't been looking forward to the possibility of having to perform an amputation on either of them.

"I knew Hogan should've called London," Potter muttered as he got to his feet. "All right, now let's get the hell out of here."

"Oui, and fast." LeBeau adjusted his back pack and started back to the trees. He suddenly stopped, turned back, and grabbed a submachine gun from one of the fallen Germans. "Just in case. It does not hurt to be prepared."

"Good idea, son," Potter agreed as he took one for himself. "Let's go."

Together, the two ran back into the forest. As soon as he crossed the tree line, Potter relaxed. Out in the open they had been sitting ducks for any patrol that might have passed by. Now that danger was gone. Not that they didn't have to be careful. "How long do you think it'll take another patrol to-"

There was a loud bang and Potter nearly jumped out of his skin. Not wasting a second, LeBeau grabbed his hand and jerked him to the ground.

"They have found their friends." LeBeau pointed back to where three more soldiers were standing at the drop zone, each firing in a different direction. "I do not think they saw us."

"You sure?"

"Oui, but they will start looking for us. Let's go." He crawled backwards, keeping his eyes on the Germans in the clearing as he waved Potter to get going.

The gunfire stopped and the Germans yelled something. From beside LeBeau and Potter, another German yelled back. Both prisoners froze.

"There's more over there," Potter breathed, pointing to another patrol that was making its way to the clearing. If any more showed up, pretty soon they would be surrounded and it would only be a matter of time before they were discovered.

LeBeau licked his lips and held his newly acquired gun close. "Can you find the camp on your own?" he asked after a moment.

Potter nodded. "I think so."

"Bein. I will give you cover fire. Run back to camp."

"No good. I'm not leaving you behind, son. Maybe we can still sneak away." As soon as he said that, another light cut through the forest on the other side of them. "Or not." Potter was beginning to think he should've stayed in the tunnels.

"Carter needs the penicillin, Docteur. You must take it to him."

"I'm not-"

"You will be no help; you are a horrible shot," LeBeau whispered fiercely. "Start that way." He pointed behind them. "I will draw them away."

"But-"

"Please!" LeBeau pleaded. His voice was barely above a whisper but its urgency thundered in Potter's ears. "You must get back to camp. Do not worry about me. I have been in worse situations. Now, go!"

Potter drew his lips into a thin line and met LeBeau's eyes. They silently begged him to do as he was told. Finally, Potter nodded and crawled away. When he figured he was a safe distance, he got to his feet and quickly crept through the brush. A burst of gunfire sounded off and pain ripped through Potter's arm. He cried out in surprise and stumbled forward. He caught himself and started in a dead run. Behind him, more gunfire filled the air. A few bullets whizzed past him, but he no longer seemed the main target.

Damn. He couldn't let LeBeau take on all those Krauts.

Potter whirled around and let loose a hail of bullets. He was answered with a bullet slamming into the tree beside him. He let off another burst before turning and running off again.

It was at times like this that he wished he had a horse under him. Four legs were better than two. Still, Potter's two old legs were doing the job. He didn't stop until the sound of gunfire died down. He could faintly hear shouting behind him and he came to a dead stop.

He frantically scanned the area. LeBeau was nowhere to be seen. Had he been captured? Potter didn't know.

There were no Germans around either and Potter debated firing his gun. No. He didn't know what had happened to LeBeau- where he was or if he were even alive or not. But he did know where Carter was and what his condition. He knew he could save Carter and so he was going to. Though the thought tore at his heart, he would have to leave LeBeau. Hogan, when he got back, could figure out what to do.

Still mindful of any patrols, Potter summoned all the stealth a cavalry man could possibly possess and made his way back to camp. He nearly collapsed when he reached the tree stump. Taking a moment to gather himself, he hid behind it and let the searchlight pass twice before he popped up and grabbed the lid.

It didn't move.

Potter tugged at it but still the lid remained shut. With a curse, Potter ducked down again and let the searchlight pass him. It was then that he noticed there was more than one tree stump. But which one led to the tunnel?

When the searchlight passed again, he darted to another stump and tried it with no success. Oh, puny pucks. Every time the searchlight passed, he was pushing his luck more and more.

It took two more tried before Potter found the right stump and when he did, he scrambled down the ladder as fast as he could. "Sergeant? Sergeant Wilson? Kinchloe? Corporal Newkirk?"

Wilson appeared around the corner. "Colonel Potter?"

Potter slipped the backpack off his shoulder and held it out to Wilson. "I've got the penicillin. And if I ever start shooting off my bazoo about going off on a damned fool errand like that again, I want you to give me a sedative and put me in quarantine!"


	24. Forgive and Forget Already

Wilson didn't seem to notice that Potter was alone. After taking the penicillin, the medic left him and rushed to the sewing room. Potter let out a long breath and sunk to the floor. How was he going to tell them he had left LeBeau out there? Corporal Newkirk would probably pop him one right on the nose. Not that he would blame him. He should've stayed in the tunnels and let one Hogan's experienced men go out with LeBeau. What on earth had he been thinking?

Potter watched the ladder hopefully. Minutes ticked by and there was still no sign of LeBeau. Finally, Potter knew he couldn't delay the inevitable any longer and he got up to join the others in the sewing room.

When he arrived, Wilson was just giving Carter a shot. Kinch and Newkirk anxiously hovered by their friend as if waiting for him to snap out of his fever the minute the penicillin was injected. Potter shook his head. There were no guarantees that the penicillin would even help now. And if it did, they were still in for a long ride.

"Did he wake up while I was gone?" Potter asked as he stepped into the room.

Newkirk shook his head. "He's going to be all right, isn't he?"

"I don't want to get your hopes up, son, but now he at least stands a chance."

Newkirk and Kinch nodded, taking the news for what it was. It wasn't particularly optimistic, but it was better than they had heard in a while. And that was enough for now.

"You're hurt," Kinch suddenly exclaimed.

"What?" Potter looked himself over and noticed the blood on his sleeve. Right. He had forgotten about that. But now that it had been pointed out to him, the pain returned and he gingerly touched the injury. "Oh right." Immediately, Wilson was at him side, helping him shuck off his over shirt. Potter lifted his arm towards the light and inspected the gash. "It's not bad. A couple of stitches and I'll be fine. It's nothing to write home about."

"What about LeBeau?" Kinch asked. "Is he all right?"

This was it. He couldn't very well lie and tell them that LeBeau had gone up top or was just lagging behind. Time was up.

Newkirk was the first to notice Potter's hesitation and he looked around. "Where's he at, anyway?" he asked, a hint of worry in his voice. "Why isn't he in here?" Potter took a deep breath. This wasn't going to go smoothly. But Newkirk seemed to know what he was going to say already. "He came back with you, didn't he?" he asked, as if not wanting to believe the obvious. He grabbed hold of Potter's shoulder and shook it. "He's here, isn't he?"

Oh, so now he cared about LeBeau. Fine timing. "No," Potter finally answered. "He's still out there." He forced himself not to add a dose of chastisement, though he certainly deserved it. The Englishman was obviously distressed and probably would feel his share of guilt soon enough.

"What happened?" Kinch asked as he grabbed Newkirk's arm and gently pulled him away from Potter. He subtly placed himself between the two of them.

"The Germans found the penicillin before we could get to it. We took them out, but that just drew more patrols. LeBeau gave me cover fire so I could get back here with the penicillin. I don't know what happened to him. I don't know if he's been captured or is just taking his time getting back or if he's…" Potter couldn't finish his sentence. He had possibly sacrificed one man for the slim chance of saving another.

"We've got to go after him, Kinch," Newkirk cried. He pushed past Kinch and started for the door.

"Hold up, Newkirk," Kinch called, but Newkirk was already out the door. Kinch took a few quick steps after him, but stumbled and grabbed hold on the doorframe for support. "He can't go out there by himself. He can barely get up and down the ladder without getting dizzy," Kinch told Potter. "We need to come up with some sort of plan and send someone else."

"I'll go after him," Potter said. He ran out in the hall and looked both ways. Newkirk was at the end of the hall in the radio room. "Corporal Newkirk."

"Sod off. I don't need any more of your lectures, Colonel," Newkirk growled as he grabbed a gun from one of the lockers in the room. "I'm going after him."

"Now hold it, son." Potter stepped in front of Newkirk, blocking his path to the hallway. "I'm not going to lecture, but you have to listen to me. You can barely walk in a straight line. There's no way you'll be able to find LeBeau. Now, just sit back and wait for Colonel Hogan to come back. He'll think of something."

Newkirk wasn't buying it and he pushed past Potter. "There isn't time to wait for the colonel. Do you know what the Germans will do to him if they catch him? If they're nice, they'll kill him. But they're probably hanging him by his thumbs and questioning him right now."

"But you don't know that," Potter barked as he grabbed hold of Newkirk again. "You don't know what's happened to him or where he is. He could be coming down that ladder right now for all we know."

Newkirk looked down the tunnel and, when LeBeau failed to appear, turned back and fixed Potter with a petulant glare. "Or not. Now let me go."

"Not until I get some sense into your head. I know concussions can affect someone's reasoning, but I didn't know it made them downright stupid. You'll get yourself killed up there."

"I'll chance it." Newkirk tried to free himself out of Potter's grasp, but Potter held tightly to his arm. Newkirk balled a fist and was mid-swing when he stopped himself and dropped his hand in defeat. "You were right."

"I _am_ right," Potter corrected.

Newkirk shook his head. "No, you were right. I should've forgiven LeBeau earlier. Maybe if I had, he wouldn't have gone."

"Do you really believe that? He didn't go to prove himself to you. At least, that wasn't the only reason. He went first and foremost because we needed that penicillin. If you were in better shape, you would've gone too."

"You're right. Again."

"That's why they made me a colonel, son. Now come on. Maybe Sergeant Kinchloe has some ideas for a level-headed plan."

"All right. But I hope he can hold up while we just sit about talking about what to do."

"Hope who can hold up? Carter? Is he all right?"

Newkirk and Potter both started in surprise as LeBeau emerged from the darkness and came up to them. The little corporal didn't seem to notice their shocked expressions. He pulled off his black knit cap and fanned himself with it. "The Boche are not as easy to dodge as they used to be. They almost caught me." He wiped his forehead with his arm and stopped halfway through the motion when he finally noticed Potter and Newkirk looking at him silently. "What is the matter? Is Carter all right?"

"He's fine," Potter managed. He couldn't seem to find the words to express his relief that LeBeau was all right. He had been sure the Frenchman had been killed or worse, the guilt of which would've rightly rested solely on his shoulders.

"Are you all right, Docteur? When you left you were bleeding." LeBeau looked at Potter's arm and quickly looked away. "You still are."

"I'm fine," Potter assured him. But was he? "What about-"

"Why haven't you fainted yet?" Newkirk demanded, cutting Potter off.

LeBeau jumped back at the outburst. "What?"

"He's bleeding. Why haven't you dropped to the floor? Or why didn't you faint before when you noticed out there?"

"I couldn't," LeBeau answered firmly. "I had to keep the Boche from chasing him. He had to get the penicillin back here."

Newkirk didn't seem convinced and he glared down at LeBeau. "And we had to get Carter back here after the air raid. But you fainted then!"

LeBeau dropped his gaze to the floor and dug his toe into the ground. "I am sorry," he apologized. "I couldn't help it then. But I knew that if I fainted now… I couldn't fail again. I had to-"

LeBeau didn't get to finish his apology because Newkirk had grabbed hold of his shoulder and shook it gently. "Well, never mind that, mate. Better late than never as they say."

LeBeau looked up, first at Potter, as if he could offer an explanation, then to Newkirk. He didn't seem to know what to say and his mouth flapped uselessly. Finally he nodded and smiled. "Oui. We have the penicillin now. Carter will be fine."

"In no time," Newkirk added.

Potter stayed back and watched as the two corporals made their way together to Carter's room. Well, that was one crisis out of the way. But there were still too many problems for Potter's tastes. Carter was still not out of the woods. And just what was taking Hogan and Olsen so long?


	25. Bologna and Mustard

There was a tray with a stack of sandwiches sitting on his seat when he got back to the jeep. Hogan shot the driver a quizzical look.

"Padre brought it over," the driver explained with a shrug. "Said the least you could do was eat. And that he'll be praying for you."

Hogan allowed himself a small smile. A prayer or two never hurt anyone. At least that's what his mom always wrote in her letters.

"In that case, sir, I think I'll go back to being an optimist, seeing as we have God on our side," Olsen said with a grin as he and Hogan rested the crate in the back seat.

"You're assuming the padre's influence can get God to overlook our heathen ways."

Olsen seemed to consider that for a moment before shrugging a shoulder. "You may just have a point there, sir. That bologna?"

"With mustard," Hogan confirmed with a peek into a sandwich.

"Oh, no worries, then. The father's a good man; he'll pull it off for us," Olsen concluded as he grabbed a sandwich and nestled into the back seat next to the crate.

Hogan failed to see the logic behind that, but let it slide. He would, however, arrange for Olsen to enjoy some sort of R and R when they got home- he apparently needed it. "You ready?" Olsen nodded. "Okay, step on it."

"All right, hold tight," the driver said as he started up the jeep. A moment later they were speeding out of the compound, back towards town.

They sat in silence the whole trip. Hogan took the time to plot his next move. So far, few things about this mission had gone well- what with the weather, the delays, the whole getting captured by their own side, and Carter getting hurt in the first place. But that was all behind them. Now things were going to go right. They had the penicillin. All they had to do was get it home, give it to Carter, and wait for his recovery. Simple.

"We're here," the driver finally announced as they pulled up in front of HQ. Hogan looked at his watch. Not bad. The driver had managed to beat his time on the return trip. Maybe a silver star wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"All right, Olsen, I'm going in. Stay here and guard that with your life," Hogan ordered, pointing to the crate of penicillin. Olsen fired off a quick salute before Hogan turned and hurried into HQ.

"Ah, you're back. My, that was quick, wasn't it?" the British captain from earlier said by way of greeting.

"Yeah. Listen, you've got those uniforms cleaned up for me?" Hogan asked.

"Did what we could for them," the captain answered as he pulled out their German uniforms.

Hogan gave them a brief inspection before nodding. "They'll do. Look, you got any captured German vehicles around here?"

"Let me see." The captain lifted the phone and after a quick conversation, hung up and turned his attention back to Hogan. "They're looking into it now. Also, General Barton said you would most likely need some information in order to get back to that prison camp of yours."

Hogan arched an eyebrow. General Barton to the rescue again. "Yeah, I do. You got a map?"

"In here, sir." The captain led him to a room down the hall. Two men were already there, pouring over a large map of the area. "Colonel Hogan, General Kelly and Colonel Griswold."

"Been expecting you, Hogan," General Kelly greeted roughly. "I don't have a lot of time to sit around and chew the fat with you, Colonel. I've got an offensive to plan. What do you need?"

Coming up beside them, Hogan scanned the map on the table. "What I need is somewhere to get through the lines."

"What, just you?" Kelly asked.

"Me, my sergeant, a jeep and a crate," Hogan replied. "We'll be dressed as Germans, in a German vehicle. What I _really_ need is to not get captured by my own side again."

"We'll take care of that for you," the British captain piped up. "I'll send out the message. And we'll escort you as far as we can." Hogan just gave him a quick nod in response. "Right then. I'll see about your transportation," he said before leaving.

"All right, any suggestions?" Hogan asked.

Kelly looked thoughtful. "We've got the Krauts on the run all over the place. Anywhere you go, you're liable to run into retreating troops or groups of deserters."

"Everything's a mess," Griswold echoed. "We're not even sure where our guys are half the time. All we know is we're moving forward and the Krauts are moving back. I don't think they've had enough time to regroup for a counter-attack yet-"

"I don't need a run down on how the war is going," Hogan interrupted tersely. "I just need an area that you're relatively sure about. I don't want to cross through a major battle. And I don't want to risk running into a large formation of Germans either. They may get suspicious or hold us up with a lot of questions."

Griswold took the cigar out of his mouth and pointed to a spot on the map. "Right here," he said. "My tanks just cleared out this area, but we're not allowed to go anywhere until we have air support again. Anyway, foot patrols have been picking up Kraut stragglers all throughout that area. If you can get through there, the Krauts will just assume you're retreating with the rest of them."

"That looks like the spot, Hogan," Kelly agreed.

Hogan took another moment to study the details on the map before he straightened and offered Kelly and Griswold a salute. "Thank-you, gentlemen."

"Good luck, Hogan."

Hogan's lips twitched. With luck and a few prayers, maybe this would turn out all right after all. "Captain?" he called as he came back into the foyer of the hotel.

"Right here, Colonel. I think we've found something that will suit your needs." He motioned for Hogan to follow him outside. A battered kubelwagen was parked in front of the door, next to the jeep Olsen was in.

Olsen gave Hogan an incredulous look. "That thing gonna get us back to camp?"

"I thought you were an optimist," Hogan said lightly, but he too looked sceptical.

"Our boys gave it the once over. It's perfectly capable," the British captain assured them. "Unfortunately, the cover is broken. I'm afraid you'll be riding without a top." He squinted up at the sky. "I'm afraid if the rain comes back, you chaps are in for an awful wet ride home." Clearing his throat, he glanced nervously at Hogan. "Of course, we can find you another one. It may take some more time but-"

"No," Hogan sighed. "This'll do. Olsen, Corporal-" he pointed to the driver- "get this thing loaded up."

"Sure thing, Colonel." Olsen hopped out of the jeep and grabbed one end of the crate. It amazed Hogan that Olsen still had any energy left. The sergeant, like Hogan himself, was only running on fumes. And a few bologna and mustard sandwiches.

"All secure," Olsen announced a moment later after the crate was settled into their new vehicle.

"Good, let's get changed. Captain, you'll have an escort ready when we come out?"

"Certainly. We'll get you as far as we can before you're on your own."

"Thanks. Let's go Olsen." Hogan turned back toward HQ, Olsen following behind him.

"Almost home," Olsen said quietly. "How you think they're holding up?"

Hogan's step faltered slightly as the question brought all his worries bubbling to the surface. Truth was, he had no idea, but he had the horrible feeling that this whole thing had taken too much time. He wished there was some way he could contact Stalag 13 directly, just to see what was going on there. Just to see how much time he had, if any.

But then again, maybe he didn't want to know if it was too late. Ignorance, as the saying went, was bliss. As long as he didn't know for a fact that it was all useless, he still had hope. He still had a reason to get this job done and get home.

On the other hand, if it was too late and he knew it, then he would rather just stay here for a few days. Rest and relax before he had to go back and face everyone he had failed.

"I'm sure they're fine, Colonel," Olsen said after a stretch of silence, answering his own question. "We always get through okay in the end."

Hogan managed a twitchy smile. "That we do." He pushed aside the thought that there were exceptions to every rule.


	26. The Burden of Waiting

Kinch was use to waiting- it was all part of the job. Whether it was waiting for Red Cross packages, a letter from home, a radio message, or for someone to come back on a mission, it was all the same. But just because he was use to it didn't make it easier. It was never easy to push aside his worry and the feeling of being helpless.

Kinch heaved a long sigh as he watched Carter from the corner of the room. Newkirk and LeBeau were right up close, as if waiting for some sort of miracle to break Carter's fever and make everything all right. With every passing moment they looked less and less hopeful.

As for Potter, he was next to Kinch, sewing stitches into his own arm. Kinch winced and had to look away. He had heard doctors made to worst patients, but he couldn't understand wanting to sew yourself up when Wilson was perfectly capable of tending to something so small. It was probably a good thing LeBeau was so engrossed with watching Carter. He might have handled the blood earlier, but this would probably send him into a coma.

"How long, do you think?" Kinch asked quietly, still not looking at Potter and his gruesome task.

"Give me a second, son," Potter grunted. "Hot damn, that stings," he muttered under his breath. "All right, done. Now, what was that?"

"How long," Kinch repeated, "before we know if Carter will be all right?"

Potter glanced up at Carter, and then moved his gaze between Newkirk and LeBeau. Then, glancing back up at Kinch, he jerked his head towards the hall and got up. Kinch slowly followed, mentally cursing the stiffness and pain in his leg.

"You want it straight, Sergeant?" Potter asked once they were alone in the hall.

"Yeah. Don't sugar coat it."

Potter nodded sagely. "I didn't figure for the type to beat around the bush." He let out a long breath. "It doesn't look good right now." Before Kinch could say anything, Potter held up a hand to silence him. "I'm not saying it's hopeless, just not good. His temperature is still too high. It's only been a few hours, but there hasn't been _any_ sign of improvement.

"I went in there blind. I can't give you a one hundred percent, money back guarantee that I got everything."

"If there's still shrapnel in there-" Kinch began but trailed off.

"Give it a few more hours, Sergeant Kinchloe. If his fever breaks, it'll get better from there."

"And if it doesn't?"

Potter just shook his head and Kinch felt a knot form in his stomach. "So we're either waiting for him to get better or to die."

"Sorry, but there's no middle ground, son," Potter apologized. "There's nothing we can do but wait to see which way the battle goes." He glanced over his shoulder before turning back to Kinch, who slouched in despair. "Now don't you go moping about, that won't solve anything," he continued sternly.

Immediately, Kinch straightened. Potter was right. Moping never solved anything. Not that Kinch would know. He wasn't the type to sit around and mope. Worry, sure. Mope, no.

"Better. Now see if you can't do something about those two in there." Potter said, jerking his thumb towards Carter's room. "If they keep sitting around the way they have, they'll end up back at each other's throats. There must be something they can do to keep busy."

Again, Potter was right. LeBeau and Newkirk had declared a truce and buried the hatchet, but Kinch didn't know how deep the hatchet was. If they just sat around and Carter only got worse, everything that they had put behind them- the blame and the anger- would be up front and center again. It wasn't something he could deal with while at the same time worrying about Carter.

And Hogan and Olsen.

Just what was taking those two so long? It had been hours since London had sent the message confirming that they had picked up the penicillin. They couldn't be that far from home now, could they? Had something happened to them? Had they been captured? And if they had, what about the penicillin?

"Sergeant!"

Kinch snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at Potter, who was casting him a stern glare. "Colonel?"

"I don't have to be a mind-reader to know what those gears in your noggin are churning out. You need to find something to do to keep yourself and them occupied. I'll keep you informed on Carter." Potter's expression softened along with his voice as he continued. "If it comes to it, I'll make sure you get to say good-bye."

Kinch felt like he had been punched in the gut but nodded dumbly. It wouldn't stop him from worrying, but if he had something else to do it would keep him from obsessing over the "what ifs".

"There'll be another roll call soon. We better get up and ready for that anyway," Kinch finally said.

"Good. You boys go on up for roll call. And while you're there, eat something. Take it easy for a while."

"Yes sir." Kinch pulled back the curtain to the recovery room, causing Newkirk and LeBeau to glance up at him. "Roll call soon, guys."

Newkirk held his watch up to the dim light and peered at it. "We still have a solid hour," he protested. LeBeau just grunted in agreement and made no move to get up.

"I appreciate your vigil, boys," Potter said quietly, but there was a sharp undertone to his words. "But I have things to do and I don't need you down here kibitzing."

A moment of silence passed before Kinch spoke up again. "Come on, guys."

Newkirk nodded and gently squeezed Carter's arm before getting up. He immediately put a hand to his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "Blimey," he muttered.

"You okay?" Kinch asked.

"Fine. My brain decided to go for a bit of a swim." Newkirk shook his head slightly. "Better now, I think."

"We will be back, Andre," LeBeau promised softly before he too got up. Kinch moved aside as LeBeau and Newkirk passed and made their way down the tunnel. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching Carter and then turned to Potter.

"You will let us know if anything changes, right?" Potter nodded. "And you won't touch my radio if it starts up either? Or try to leave the tunnel on some crazy errand?"

Potter threw his hands up in the air. "Jumpin' jompers, son! Now you're just making up things to worry about! Get going!"

"Okay, I'm going. And I'll try not to worry too much," Kinch promised as he turned and limped through the tunnel.

Kinch just caught a glimpse of Newkirk and LeBeau at the top of the ladder before he started climbing. It took longer than usual, his injuries sending shots of pain all up his leg on every rung. When he finally reached the top he found Newkirk sitting at the common table, staring blankly at some cards in his hands. LeBeau was at the stove, absently stirring something in a pot.

"You guys all right?" Kinch asked, knowing full well that they weren't. In fact, no one in the hut looked good. The stress was getting to everyone. It probably didn't help that it was pouring rain, preventing anyone from going outside to relax or occupy themselves.

"I really thought there was a chance," Newkirk muttered, tossing his cards onto the table.

Kinch cleared his throat. "Of course there's a chance. A good chance. Colonel Potter is confident anyway," Kinch lied. "Just because he hasn't snapped out of it right away doesn't mean he won't get better."

"Oui, I suppose," LeBeau said. "We just have to be patient."

"Right," Kinch said with a nod. "But listen, there's still almost an hour to roll call and there's still things to do around here until the colonel gets back.

"LeBeau, go check up on how General Burkhalter is doing. Make sure he's still in camp, and more importantly, in bed. We can't have him chewing out Klink until Colonel Hogan is here to save his neck."

"D'accord. Who is in charge of that?"

"Mac and Carlson," Kinch told him. LeBeau nodded and, after grabbing his scarf and hat, ducked outside into the rain. "Newkirk? You good to go?"

"I'll be all right. What do you want me to do?"

"I need you to track down Schultz. We need to make sure that he thinks Colonel Hogan and Olsen are still in solitary and get him to keep Klink away."

"You think Klink would try to see the colonel?"

Kinch nodded. "I think Klink is still panicking over Carter- and he's probably not too happy that Burkhalter is sick. Eventually he's going to want to ask Hogan to help him out."

"Right." Newkirk cracked his knuckles. "I'll let ol' Schultzie know that the guvnor needs his beauty sleep for-" he glanced at his watch- "another twelve hours?"

"Better make it a little longer."

Newkirk let out a low whistle. "Blimey, it feels like they've been gone much longer, hasn't it? Do you think Schultz can keep Klink away that long?"

"He'll have to. We'll poison Klink if we have to."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Goldman?" Kinch said when Newkirk had gone.

Goldman looked up from his bunk. "Yeah Kinch?"

"Go make sure that Wiggins and Fuller are up for roll call."

"Right." Goldman slid off his bunk and made his way to the ladder. "Hey Kinch?"

"Yeah?"

"Everything's going to work out, right?"

Kinch looked up at the ceiling, as if it could offer any answers. It didn't. "It usually does," he finally sighed. He clapped Goldman on the shoulder. "We've been through worse, right?"

Goldman just grinned. "Oh sure. This is much better than dealing with that crazy white Russian."

Kinch laughed before he could stop himself. This whole situation was no laughing matter and, really, he would take Marya over this any day. But the unexpected humour was a welcome relief.

"You might, but I don't think Colonel Hogan would. Thanks, Goldman."

"Yeah. Hey, take it easy, Kinch."

"I will." He waited until Goldman had left before closing the trap and flopping onto his bunk. "When I don't have to wait anymore, I'll take it easy."


	27. The Road Home

Maybe it was just deep-rooted paranoia. Or maybe he had just had enough of being caught off guard by bad luck and was preparing himself. Either way, as they approached Griswold's tank column, Hogan half expected them to open fire on his kubelwagen and send him, Olsen and the penicillin to kingdom come.

But apparently the message had been sent because he didn't garner too much attention. And besides, he had an escort of two American jeeps- one in front of him, one behind. Still didn't keep Hogan from gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual.

The jeep ahead of him pulled to the side of the road. Hogan followed suit and waited as the driver jumped out and came up to the kubelwagen. "This is as far as we go, Colonel Hogan." He turned and pointed down the road which was surrounded on both sides by forest. "I wouldn't suggest taking the road, sir. There's still some busted tanks that need to be cleared out of the way."

"Okay, we'll go through the trees. It'll look better to any Germans we cross if we come out of the forest anyway. Thanks, Sergeant."

"Sure. Be careful, huh?"

"Don't worry about us." The sergeant patted the door before going back to his own jeep. Hogan twisted in his seat to catch Olsen's gaze. "You ready?"

Olsen nodded. "Let's go home, Colonel."

Hogan drove the kubelwagen off the road and soon they were carefully making their way through the trees. There were random, distant bursts of gunfire, but Hogan ignored them. None of them were close enough to worry about. He was more focused on avoiding tree roots and holes. Despite his efforts, it was still a bumpy ride and Hogan occasionally glanced back at the crate to make sure it was still okay.

The rain started up again and filtered down through the treetops. Hogan pulled his collar up in a vain attempt to keep dry. Beside him, Olsen kept a sharp eye out for any troops or patrols, his hand resting lightly on his sidearm.

"Colonel, look." Olsen said quietly some time later, pointing in the distance. Hogan followed his finger. Through the trees he could barely make out a group of men patrolling the forest.

"They one of ours or one of theirs?" Hogan asked as he brought the car to a stop behind some thick brush.

Olsen stood in his seat for a better look. "Depends on your definition of 'ours' and 'theirs'," he muttered, absently indicating his uniform. "They're American, sir."

Hogan's heart beat a little faster at the news. "You sure?" Olsen nodded. "Damn."

"I take that means they're 'theirs'. Just when I thought this war couldn't get any crazier. You think they got the message that we're coming through?"

"Can't be sure," Hogan said doubtfully. He shook his head slightly and pinched the bridge of his nose. If these guys hadn't gotten the message, it was a sure thing they would start shooting as soon as they saw the kubelwagen. There was no way sneaking past them either. As soon as they moved out from behind the brush, they would be spotted. He didn't want to have to shoot his own guys, but if came down to it, he would.

"Olsen, trade me spots," Hogan ordered as he quietly got out of the car. After switching spots, Hogan pulled out his gun.

"You're not-" Olsen started but fell quiet.

"Look, we've come too far to let _anyone_ stop us," Hogan explained, keeping his expression neutral. Uncertainty flashed across Olsen's face but was quickly replaced with grim determination.

"Right. Ready sir?"

"Yeah," Hogan whispered. "Let's just hope they got that message. Get going."

"Like a bat out of hell, sir." And with that, Olsen slammed on the gas. The kubelwagen surged forward, leaving the protection of the brush. There was a shout of surprise from the patrol. And then there was a shot.

Hogan cursed as the bullet whizzed past him. He didn't want to have to do this, but he wasn't about to get killed by his own side either. The patrol fired another shot and Hogan raised his gun to return fire. Before he could though, the leader of the patrol grabbed his comrade's gun and pushed it down. Frantically, he motioned to the others in his group to lower their weapons as well. Then, he tentatively waved to Hogan.

Hogan blew out a sigh of relief and waved back.

"Looks like they got the message," Olsen observed. "They know it's us."

"Or they just don't want to run the risk of shooting their own guys," Hogan replied, feeling guilty for not being willing to return the favour. He certainly couldn't blame them for erring on the side of caution. The message that he and Olsen were coming through was probably coupled with some harsh consequences. But he had to wonder how many real Germans were getting through because of caution. Pushing those thoughts aside, Hogan motioned for Olsen to continue.

They drove in relative silence as they picked their way through the brush. That first patrol was the only one they saw but every once in a while, Hogan would perk up and stay tense, hand always on his gun. It was all for nothing though. The whole thing was rather uneventful- much to Hogan's great relief and surprise.

It took a good hour before Hogan decided they had gone far enough and they turned towards the main road. When they hit the road with no sign of anyone- German or American- Hogan finally relaxed in his seat and rubbed his eyes.

"Do I need a nap," Hogan sighed. "When we get home, I'm going to sleep for a week."

"I didn't know officers needed naps," Olsen replied with a smirk.

Hogan rolled his eyes. "You know, you're right. We don't need to go to the bathroom either. We just explode when we're fifty."

Olsen seemed to seriously consider that for a moment before shaking his head. "I think we're getting a little nutty, sir."

"Officers don't get nutty either," Hogan countered.

Olsen snorted incredulously. "Then how do you explain Colonel Klink? Colonel Crittendon?" He paused. "Actually, I'm beginning to think insanity starts in colonel-hood."

Hogan just laughed- he couldn't really argue with that- and let himself relax as they sped down the road. Despite the pouring rain and otherwise miserable circumstances he felt better than he had since this whole thing started. There was light at the end of the tunnel. They had the penicillin and were making good time back toward Stalag 13. If Carter could just hold out long enough, everything would turn out fine.

They drove almost non-stop, pausing only to change seats and fill up with some of the gasoline HQ had sent with them. Everything, even their obligatory stops at checkpoints, was going off without a hitch which was just the way Hogan liked it. If only the rain would stop permanently, instead of just every now and then, the trip would be perfect.

"You know what I miss about home," Olsen said as he settled into the passenger seat after one stop.

The casual comment caught Hogan off guard, but he rose to the bait. "Girls?"

"Yeah," Olsen said with a lope-sided grin. He seemed to drift off for a moment before coming back to reality. "Yeah, but I mean other than that."

Hogan raised an eyebrow. "Is there anything other than that?"

"Sure. Food," Olsen replied. " _Real_ food. Hot dogs, burgers, Ma's apple pie, pot roast."

"Mmm, yeah," Hogan sighed, letting his mind wander back home for a moment. "Don't forget about corn on the cob smothered in butter and steak and baked potatoes and spare ribs!" Hogan stomach growled and he had to stop himself before he started to drool. "You know, there was this place in Bridgeport that had the best ribs-"

"Hold it," Olsen interrupted. "Sir, you obviously have never been to Chicago. There's this place there that hands down has the best ribs ever."

"You're only saying that because you haven't tried-"

"I don't need to try anywhere else," Olsen countered adamantly. "This place is amazing! Nothing will ever compare to these ribs. They're like ambrosia. And the coleslaw!" Olsen chuckled greedily, rubbing his hands together. "The sauce! The everything! Colonel, if you're ever in Chicago-"

"They really that good?" Hogan asked, rolling his eyes. Olsen was sure getting worked up over them.

"Look, they're so good that they'd make LeBeau instantly change his opinion of American cuisine."

Hogan's eyebrows shot up. "They must be good. What's the name of this place?"

"I can't remember!" Olsen exclaimed, wringing his hands. "It was near the Dearborn Street Station, by the dry cleaners." Balling his hand into a fist, he tapped it against his forehead before throwing his hands up in defeat. "I can't remember. But Colonel, they were sensational! We need to find out when we get back to camp."

"And what? Call in a take-out order?" Hogan asked sceptically. Olsen almost looked hopeful which just made Hogan shake his head in disbelief. "You're losing it. Don't be ridiculous."

"Ah, Colonel, you can't even imagine how good these ribs are. I would go through a snow storm on my hands and knees to get these ribs. After all the crazy things we've done, with all the connections we have, it can't be too hard to-"

"Olsen! We couldn't even get London to get us penicillin from the front!" Hogan snapped before he could stop himself.

That seemed to shake Olsen out of his greed-induced fantasy. He immediately looked sheepish. "Sorry. You're right. Guess we have more important things to worry about than some ribs, huh?"

"Yeah, we do."

There was a long pause and Hogan felt the heavy weight of their mission settle back on his shoulders. He wished he hadn't said anything to ruin their conversation, ridiculous though it was. It had been nice, just for a moment, to forget- or at least move to the back burner- the awful stress of their mission and talk about something light.

"I can't wait until the only thing I have to worry about is where to get the best ribs," Hogan finally said, offering Olsen a weak smile. Olsen returned it with one of his own.

"If that ever happens, sir, just remember Chicago."

"Sure. Who could forget that great capital city of Illinois?" Hogan replied.

At that, Olsen just rolled his eyes and groaned. "You shoulda shot those two," he grumbled.

"Believe me, I was tempted. Hey, up ahead," Hogan said suddenly, pointing down the road. "Checkpoint coming up." He quickly checked his watch. "Gotta be one of the last ones before we get home."

"Really?" Olsen sounded surprised. It surprised Hogan a little too. The return trip had been much shorter. But then again, they hadn't gotten stuck in the mud once, had to walk, or been involved in an all out battle. All in all, a good trip. Hogan hoped it stayed that way.

"I'd say another hour or two," Hogan confirmed. "All right, here we go." They pulled up to the checkpoint and came to a stop. A guard came out of his hut and approached the car.

"Herr Colonel," the guard greeted. "Papers?"

Hogan handed the papers over. The guard looked them over and was about to hand them back when he seemed to notice the kubelwagen for the first time. Hogan remained calm as the guard inspected their battered car. This wouldn't be the first time a guard had noticed the sad state of their vehicle and Hogan had managed to get past them all before. "Your car seems to have been through quite a lot. As have you," he continued, gesturing to Hogan's raggedy uniform.

"We've just come from the front on important business," Hogan explained impatiently.

The guard seemed to consider that for a moment. "And may I ask what is in the crate, Herr Colonel?" he continued, turning his suspicious inspection to the crate in the back seat.

It was the first time anyone had questioned the crate, and Hogan wasn't about to let the guard go rifling through it. "You may not," Hogan growled ferociously. "It is top secret, Sergeant. As you see, my orders make that clear."

"Yes, of course. I am sorry, Herr Colonel, but we are being extra cautious. We have orders from Colonel Ruebel, from Oflag 18 to be on the look out for an escaped prisoner and the American commandos that-"

"And you think I am smuggling them in a crate while heading into the heart of Germany?" Hogan demanded incredulously. "The very idea is ridiculous!"

"I understand your point, Herr Colonel. But I am just following my orders which are endorsed by the Gestapo." The word Gestapo was seethed out as a threat.

Hogan held back a groan. Of course the Gestapo would get involved with the search, Hogan thought with a scowl. They would be tearing the countryside apart to find 'The Fourth Horseman' and the men who busted him out of Oflag 18. And Colonel Ruebel would probably be determined to find them first in order to save himself from harsh punishment. Which meant plenty of patrols in the surrounding areas.

"I see. I wouldn't dream of interfering with orders from the Gestapo," Hogan ground out. He desperately wanted to pull out a threat for the Russian Front, but it would probably just raise this guard's suspicions. He had always warned his men not to over-act and now he had to follow his own advice.

"I thought that might be the case," the guard said smugly. "Hans," he called to the other guard who stood in the doorway of the hut. "Come open this crate."

"Sergeant Klaus will help," Hogan said, motioning to Olsen. Olsen nodded and jumped out, grabbing a crowbar from the back seat.

"I am sorry for the inconvenience," the first guard said, almost sounding sincere. Hogan just grunted. "But we can't be-" he paused as another car approached from the opposite direction. Hogan tensed. A bad feeling suddenly made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as it came closer.

"One moment please, Herr Colonel," the guard said. "That must be Colonel Ruebel now. He will want my report."

"Right," Hogan growled. As casually as possible, he tugged the brim of his cap lower and flipped up his collar. Ahead, Ruebel's driver got out of the car and held Ruebel's door open. The guard ambled up to meet them. They quickly came up to the hut, out of the rain and started talking. Hogan tensed when the guard motioned to him.

There was no reason to be nervous, Hogan assured himself. His papers were flawless, Ruebel hadn't seen his face and Olsen would have to good sense not to let Ruebel take a good look at him either. And, obviously, they weren't really smuggling an escaped prisoner in the crate.

"As you can see, we are taking every precaution," the guard was saying to Ruebel. "Leaving no stone unturned as it were."

For Pete's sakes, he sounded like Klink boasting to General Burkhalter! Hogan gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as his patience wore thinner and thinner.

"Perhaps you are looking under too many stones," Ruebel said, sounding as impatient as Hogan felt. "But I guess we cannot take anything the Gestapo is involved with too lightly. Not to mention my own career is in jeopardy."

"Sergeant," Hogan called, interrupting them. "Are we done here?"

"Yes, sorry for the delay. Hans?"

The second guard shrugged and looked into the crate. "Nothing in here. Just boxes."

"Boxes?" the first guard repeated warily. Both he and Ruebel came up to the car and peered in.

"It is top secret," Hogan growled. "My orders are clearly written, Sergeant. And as I said, I am in a hurry." He chanced a glance back at Olsen. He didn't show any outward signs of panicking, but Hogan could tell he was getting more and more nervous. Both guards and Ruebel were awfully close.

"I'm sure even the Gestapo can appreciate the meaning of 'top secret'," he added in a low tone.

"Yes, I am sure they can," Ruebel said. "Enough of this; Sergeant Heinze, I have a new map I want to discuss with you." Hogan let out an imperceptible sigh of relief. He never thought he would be thankful to run into Ruebel. Help was certainly coming from the most unexpected places lately.

"Right away. I'm sorry for the delay, Herr Colonel." The guard offered a salute before turning back towards the hut with Colonel Ruebel and the other guard. "Oh, before I forget, your papers." He turned back and handed the papers to Olsen, who had just finished putting the lid back on the crate. Olsen grabbed them and offered a stiff smile.

"One moment, please," Ruebel said suddenly from the hut's doorframe. Both Hogan and Olsen tensed. Olsen tried to hide his face from Ruebel who peered at him intensely. Ruebel cocked his head to the side and stepped closer. "You look very familiar, Sergeant. Let me look at you."

Then again, running into Ruebel wasn't such a great thing after all.

Olsen glanced back at Hogan who nodded. Carefully, so as not to draw attention to himself, Hogan reached for his gun. It was entirely possible that Ruebel wouldn't recognize Olsen. After all, he had been a lowly corporal, barely worth noticing, when they had come to bust Potter out of Oflag 18. Of course, it was very hard to forget the face of someone who held you up at gunpoint and took a prisoner right out of your camp.

With a deep breath, Olsen looked up at Ruebel. Hogan waited for the flash of recognition to cross Ruebel's face before he fired. That was his cue. The shot hit Ruebel squarely in the chest. At the same moment, Olsen clubbed the first guard over the head with his crowbar. The second guard fired a shot from inside the hut. Hogan returned fire, making sure the guard stayed in there until they got away.

"Olsen, get in!" Hogan cried. Olsen hopped into the back next to the crate and Hogan took off.

"How long do you think until they start following us?" Olsen asked.

"Not long. They're probably radioing the nearby patrols too."

"Great."

Sure enough, it didn't take long before there were shots behind them. A bullet smashed into Hogan's rear view mirror and he dared a glance back to find Ruebel's staff car speeding behind them. The second guard was leaning out the passenger window, firing madly at them.

"Like being in a gangster movie," Olsen said as he fired a volley of shots at their pursuers.

"Are we the gangsters or the cops?"

"We're the ones being chased, so I guess we're the gangsters," Olsen said after ducking behind his seat to reload. He popped back up and fired again. The guard returned fire, hitting the corner of Olsen's seat. "Geez, that was close. My turn." He fired twice.

"I think you enjoy this kind of thing too much," Hogan muttered, swerving slightly to throw off their tail's aim.

"Well I'm not on your team for my good looks. Speed up on that corner, huh?" Olsen said, quickly motioning at an upcoming turn.

"Is that an order?" Hogan grunted, but sped up anyway. The turn was already a sharp one and the rain and mud didn't help matters. The kubelwagen slid dangerously as they pulled around the corner, causing Hogan to momentarily lose control. Olsen did his best to keep the crate beside him steady without much success. Hogan cursed and pulled on the steering wheel, bringing them back onto a straight course.

Right behind them, Ruebel's car came ripping around the corner. Hogan looked back just as Olsen fired. His bullet hit the front tire, sending the car into an uncontrollable spin. Mid-spin, the staff car toppled onto its side and went into a roll. It tumbled over and over off the road until it came to a violent stop by crashing into a tree.

Hogan watched with a mixture of pride and horror. "That was… Olsen, how did you end up in the Air Force? "

Olsen just shrugged. "Army logic I guess, sir."

"Well it was one hell of a shot."

"Thanks. Think anyone else will be coming after us?"

"Should be some patrols coming up."

As if on cue, there was a shot from above. Both Hogan and Olsen looked up to where a small group of men were firing from the hills ahead. "Down!" Hogan cried when one of the Germans let loose a spray of bullets from a machine gun. He felt one skim his back before smashing into the passenger seat. That was close- too close. From behind him he could hear Olsen cursing up a storm.

"You okay, Olsen?" Hogan yelled, his heart beating wildly at the thought that Olsen had been hit.

"Yeah, yeah, but Colonel, they hit the crate!"

For just a moment, Hogan felt sick to his stomach, but quickly pushed the feeling aside. So they had hit it- that didn't mean that all the penicillin was gone. Besides, he had more important things to worry about at the moment. Like how to keep from getting shot.

"Detour," Hogan announced as he jerked the steering wheel. The car careened off the road, down a ditch and into the forest on the other side of the road.

"We're going to run into more patrols here," Olsen warned as he reloaded his gun.

"We'll handle them."

"All this bumping around is gonna throw off my aim," Olsen grumbled as the kubelwagen went over a large rock.

"Look Olsen, you're not on the team because of your good looks," Hogan countered, throwing back Olsen's earlier comment.

"Yeah okay. Hey, up ahead."

Ahead of them, a patrol emerged from the brush and opened fire. Hogan swerved, hitting a rather nasty bump. Olsen leaned out of the car and fired a few shots. Hogan pulled out his own gun, one hand still firmly on the wheel, and added his own shots to Olsen's. Two Germans dropped to the ground causing the others to take cover behind a fallen log. They continued firing behind cover as Hogan sped away.

"There's going to be more ahead," Olsen said grimly.

"You've got to stop going back and forth with your optimism," Hogan growled as a German bullet lodged itself into his side mirror.

"Hard to be an optimist when you're low on bullets," Olsen grumbled.

He had a point. Hogan didn't have many shots left either and he really couldn't make the most of the ones he did have while trying to drive at the same time. If there were more patrols ahead, as he knew there would be, it was a very slim chance they would be able to get through them in one piece.

Another patrol appeared up ahead, already firing at them. Hogan made himself as small as possible behind the wheel. "Olsen, get down," he ordered as he pressed harder on the gas. The kubelwagen surged forward. The patrol continued to fire, hitting the front of the car and completely destroying the windshield, but Hogan didn't slow down. Instead, he headed straight for them at full speed. When it became apparent that he was going to plough right through them, the patrol stopped firing and jumped out of the way. Immediately, Olsen popped up from his seat and fired at them before they could regain their senses.

"Nice move. Crazy, but effective," Olsen observed.

"Story of my life," Hogan replied.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack as the car hit a rather nasty bump. The kubelwagen bounced and thudded along the ground before coming to a hard stop. The force sent Hogan crashing painfully into the steering wheel, knocking the wind out of him.

"Colonel?"

Hogan blinked the stars from his vision and shook his head to clear it. "Fine. You?"

"Yeah. What happened?"

"Must've-" he was cut off as the sound of more gunfire filled the air. Another patrol was making its way towards them. Thankfully, they were still too far away to have a good shot. "They just don't quit, do they? We've got to get out of here and quick before we have the whole damn German army on us."

"No arguments here, Colonel," Olsen replied. He jumped out of the car and ducked behind it. "But how?"

Hogan dropped down beside him. "You got any bullets left?" he asked, wiping the rain and sweat off his face.

"Three," Olsen reported grimly. "Maybe four."

Not good. Not good at all. Hogan wasn't sure he had many more either. They needed some sort of a distraction in order to get out of this. Hogan's mind whirled frantically as he weighed his options. There was no perfect solution. Whatever he did, he ran the risk of getting himself and/or Olsen killed. But they couldn't just sit there and wait for the Germans to capture them. So, crazy or not, Hogan settled on a plan.

"We have any gasoline left?" Hogan asked.

"Unless it's shot up, it's tied up on the back."

"Okay, cover me," Hogan ordered, handing Olsen his gun. "On three?" Olsen nodded. "One, two… three."

On the mark, both of them shot up. The air filled with gunfire as the patrol, now much closer, started firing. Olsen fired back, making deliberate shots with the bullets he had while Hogan went for the ropes that tied all the jerry cans of gas together up behind the back seat. The ropes, wet with rain, proved difficult to untie. Fishing out his pocket knife, Hogan cut the ropes and pulled down two cans. Both were empty- one having been shot to pieces at one point. With a curse, Hogan grabbed another one, relieved to find it full, and took cover again behind the car.

"So what's the plan?" Olsen asked, dropping down beside him.

Hogan tore at his coat sleeve. "We need a distraction," he explained. He took a deep breath before continuing, a knot forming in his stomach as the consequences of his plan hit him full on. "So we're going to blow up the car."

"Blow up the- Colonel, what about the penicillin?" Olsen asked, eyes shifting to the crate before settling back on Hogan.

Hogan held his gaze, reading all the thoughts that were going through the sergeant's head. It wasn't hard; they were the same as his own.

If they blew the car, and by extension the penicillin, then this whole mission had been for nothing. They were no use to Carter without any penicillin. But they were no good to anyone if they were dead. Right now, it all came down to them or Carter. The operation or Carter. In very cold terms, the operation at Stalag 13 would survive without Carter. But not without Hogan. The decision left Hogan feeling hollow and sick.

Olsen seemed to have come to the same conclusion and his expression hardened. "Better be quick, Colonel," was all he said.

Hogan nodded and tore off his sleeve. Twisting it, he fed it into the jerry can, soaking it with gasoline. "Let's hope this works," he muttered as he rigged up his make-shift bomb. "Get ready to run. We'll come around the side of 'em and take them out." It was still a risky plan, with every chance of them getting shot, but it was better than anything else he could come up with. "I'll go left, you go right." Hogan pulled out a lighter and nodded to Olsen. Then, he lit the sleeve on fire. He pushed Olsen on the shoulder and both got up and started to run. The patrol fired at them and then gave chase.

Come on, come on, come on, Hogan thought as he darted through the brush. Blow already!

As if heeding Hogan's silent pleas, a loud blast suddenly filled the air, blocking out the sounds of the rain and gunfire. The blast had caught the Germans off guard and a few of them, who had been close to the car, were thrown to the ground. The others reacted with confusion, not sure whether to help their comrades or go after Hogan and Olsen.

Hogan switched directions to hit the patrol from the side but stopped in his tracks when he remembered he didn't have his gun- Olsen had it. Cursing under his breath, Hogan dove behind a tree and took a moment to think. He could keep going, dart through the forest back to Stalag 13 and hope he wasn't caught. But he was defenceless and there were bound to be many more patrols between him and Stalag 13. In fact, there were probably more headed their way right now. And he still had to worry about Olsen. Everything else had gone to pot and he wasn't going to add to his failures by leaving Olsen behind.

Peeking around the tree, he counted three Germans cautiously fanning out to search the area. One more was still on the ground but from the looks of it he was only shaken from the explosion. He'd be up in no time to help with the search. All in all, it was four armed goons against two Americans with maybe one shot left. Hogan didn't like the odds.

Suddenly there was a shot and, with a spray of blood, one of the Germans crumpled and dropped to the ground. The other two turned in the direction of the shot, away from Hogan. This was his chance.

Darting out from his hiding place, Hogan ran towards the closest German at full speed, expecting to get shot at any second. But the shot never came and, with a move that would make a pro-footballer jealous, Hogan tackled the soldier to the ground.

Needless to say, his opponent was surprised, but recovered quickly and jabbed Hogan in the gut with his elbow. Hogan grunted and pulled back a little- enough for the German to roll over and throw a punch. It connected solidly with Hogan's jaw, sending him into the mud.

Regaining his senses, Hogan lunged at him before the German could reach for his handgun, which had been thrown to the ground when Hogan had first tackled him. The two of them wrestled frantically, each trying to get to the gun first.

Hogan used every dirty trick in the book to get the upper hand. After a series of particularly nasty kicks and punches, Hogan managed to loosen the German's grip and dove for the gun. A swift, vicious punch to the kidneys however made him drop it back in the mud. The German crawled over him and grabbed the gun. Desperately, Hogan bit his hand and then slammed his elbow into the soldier's face. The German didn't let go and instead fired off a wild shot. Hogan grabbed the gun too and forced more wild, useless shots until the gun clicked empty.

The gun now forgotten, both turned their attention back to beating on each other. With an infuriated growl, the German grabbed Hogan's throat and squeezed. Hogan struggled to loosen his grip as stars crowded his vision. Grabbing a lump of mud, Hogan flung it into the man's face. It was enough to startle him and loosen his death hold on Hogan's throat. Hogan followed up with a knee to the gut, freeing him completely. A head butt to the nose sent the German reeling back. Grabbing the gun again, Hogan brought it crashing down on his opponent's head. The German went limp and Hogan kicked him away.

Hogan tried to catch his breath as he struggled to his feet. But he didn't have time to collect himself. He had to find Olsen and help in out of whatever trouble he was sure to be in. Taking a quick glance around, he saw one German on the ground, holding his knee and cursing violently. Nearby, Olsen and the other were fist fighting.

The German knocked Olsen to the ground with a hard blow to the face. Spitting out blood, the German sneered and levelled grabbed his rifle from the ground and levelled it at Olsen.

"Hey!" Hogan shouted as he raced up to them. The German whirled around, bringing his gun to face Hogan who stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly, Hogan raised his hands in surrender, catching a glance at Olsen. Olsen nodded and before the German could shoot, he swiped his leg under him, causing the German to fall backwards. Hogan ran up to him and kicked the German in the head, knocking him unconscious.

"Thanks," Olsen panted, lifting his hand for Hogan to help him up.

"Anytime. But let's not make this a habit, huh?" Hogan replied as he pulled Olsen to his feet. "Come on, we don't have time to chat." Hogan grabbed the German's gun and searched him for more weapons. His search earned him a grenade and a handgun. "All right, let's see what goodies the others have on them." Together, Olsen and Hogan searched the other Germans, relieving them of their weapons until they came to the last German, still on the ground and still cursing up a storm.

On closer inspection, Hogan saw the guy's knee was a mangled mess, barely even there anymore. "Think you hit him with some of those shots," Olsen helpfully guessed.

"Better him than you," Hogan muttered. Olsen just gave him a weak smile.

The German growled and reached into his coat. Olsen cocked a handgun and levelled it at him. "Not a very good idea, friend," he warned.

"I have a grenade," the German spat. "If I blow you up, at least I will die a hero."

Hogan growled and stepped on the guy's knee. The German howled in pain and clawed at Hogan's foot, his grenade forgotten. "Like the man said, not a very good idea." He took his foot off and the German huddled in on himself, whimpering into the mud.

Olsen knelt down and commandeered the German's weapons. As he pulled out the grenades, Olsen clicked his tongue and shook his head in reproof. The German just growled. "There are more patrols. They are all over and they will be on their way here right now."

Olsen looked up at Hogan and got to his feet. "He's right. Do we even have a chance of getting home?"

Grimly, Hogan scanned the woods before his eyes fell upon the smouldering remains of their kubelwagen. "We'll make it home," he stated coldly.

"You don't sound too enthusiastic."

Hogan turned to meet him with a sharp eye. "We'll make it home," he repeated. "The question is, do we really want to?"

Olsen looked over at the wreckage and didn't, or couldn't, reply.


	28. A Gloomy Pair of Hitchhikers

Hogan panted harshly as he crouched down, leaning against a tree. Wiping a hand across his forehead to clear away both sweat and rain, he cast a glance over at Olsen, who was pressed up against another tree. The sergeant risked a glance out from his hiding place and then held up three fingers. Hogan cursed softly.

After their spectacular get-away, he and Olsen had tried to keep a low profile, dodging each new patrol with stealth rather than taking them on with force. But it made for slow going. Hogan had guessed it would take an hour, maybe two, from the last checkpoint to get back home. But that had been when they had a vehicle. Now they were on foot, picking their way through a thick forest crawling with Krauts. Both were in German uniforms, but even so, it would be hard to pass off as a patrol- their uniforms were practically in tatters- Hogan's was even missing one sleeve- and their description had probably been sent to every patrol from here to Dusseldorf.

Hogan's desire to get back to Stalag 13 as soon as possible was tempered by the crushing disappointment of losing the penicillin. The whole reason they had gone out and risked their necks was nothing more than a heap of ash in the midst of the burning wreckage of their kubelwagen. By blowing up the car and the penicillin, Hogan had signed Carter's death certificate. The thought made him sick. How could he possibly go back and face his men? How could he face Carter and tell him he had let him down? Assuming Carter was even still alive to tell.

Though the decision tore at his heart, he knew he had made it for a reason. He hadn't had a whole lot of options. He was responsible for more than just Carter. He had a whole operation to take care of- an operation that needed him to function. So, pushing down his guilt, Hogan forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He had to get himself and Olsen home. He would face the consequences of his actions later when they were both safe.

The sky was dark and the rain seemed to come down in buckets. It was both a blessing and a curse. It helped to dampen any sounds they made, and dulled the patrols' senses. But that worked both ways. Once they had almost run into a patrol because they hadn't heard them. But both he and Olsen were too good to let it happen twice.

Gradually, the terrain had become more and more familiar. They were closer to Stalag 13 than they had been before, but they were still a good hour away on foot. It would have been easy to get sloppy, being so close to home, but Hogan wouldn't let his guard down.

Hogan consciously made an effort to quiet his breathing. It wasn't easy- his ribs were on fire. He must have bruised a few during his bout of fisticuffs with that German earlier. Peeking around the tree, he caught sight of the patrol Olsen had pointed out. They were lazily picking their way through the foliage, sweeping brush aside with their rifles. They didn't seem too alert which was a welcome relief. The last few patrols had been a lot harder to get past, being on full alert.

Hogan caught Olsen's eye and noticed the look of relief on the sergeant's face. So he was thinking the same thing too. Well, neither could allow their guard to go down. This patrol might seem easy enough to dodge, but Hogan wasn't about to press his luck. He sent a quick hand motion for Olsen to get moving while he stayed to cover the patrol, just in case they noticed him. Olsen nodded and slipped silently through the brush. The patrol didn't seem to notice.

After a moment, Hogan started to move but suddenly stopped when the patrol paused and started talking.

"It's getting late," one man said to the others. "We have been out in the rain for hours. I do not think we will find either prisoner."

"What about those men we were told about? We may catch them," another remarked. "And then-"

"And then what? Colonel Klink will promote us?"

The name hit Hogan like lightning and he paused, leaning back up against the tree. These men weren't a regular patrol. They were from Stalag 13! That meant they were close to home. Hogan almost sighed in relief, but managed to keep quiet.

The other men laughed at the assumption. "It is wet and cold. Let's go back. Colonel Klink will not even know. Unless you're afraid of Sergeant Schultz!"

That earned another bout of laughter. One guard slapped his companion on the back and motioned for them to start moving. Hogan waited for them to be out of sight before he darted through the brush. He met up with Olsen not too far away.

"Colonel!" Olsen hissed. "Did you hear? They're ours."

Colonel Hogan almost smiled at that. 'Ours', indeed. It certainly was a crazy war. "They sure are."

"Think we can hitch a ride?" Olsen asked hopefully.

"It's worth a shot," Hogan replied. "Come on, let's go, before they get too far ahead of us."

Olsen nodded and together they started off in the direction of the patrol, moving as fast as they could while still maintaining a degree of stealth. As the trees grew thinner, Hogan caught sight of the guards, still picking their way through the forest. A little further ahead, a truck sat on the road. Hogan reached out and grabbed Olsen's sleeve, bringing him to a stop.

"Get in the cab," Hogan muttered under his breath. "Get in the cab." If they all got in the cab, then Olsen and Hogan were free to jump into the back. If not, they had wasted a good five minutes following these goons for no reason.

Apparently, the goons had the good sense to listen to his almost silent plea. Hogan wasn't sure what he would have done if they hadn't. Beside him, Olsen let out a small breath as the three Germans piled into the cab. Hogan heaved his own sigh as he cautiously stepped out from his hiding place. As the truck's engine turned over, Hogan quickly scanned the roadway and, confident the coast was clear, darted out onto the road and practically dove into the back of the truck. Olsen was one step behind him. Olsen immediately pulled his gun, aiming it at the canvas separating the back from the cab as if he expected the Germans to peek back and discover them.

Hogan pulled his gun too, though he desperately hoped he wouldn't have to use it. It would just make things more complicated.

"Eyes on the road, boys," Hogan whispered, hoping the Germans would comply to his wishes again.

The truck pulled forward and Hogan felt his tension ease, though it didn't disappear entirely. There was still a chance they would get caught. And even if they didn't, once they were home, Hogan would have to face the inevitable reaction of his men when they realized he had returned without the penicillin.

Across the bed of the truck, Olsen sighed and sank back against the canvas, looking thoroughly drained, though his gun was still aimed at the front. "Damn, Colonel." Though it was directed at him, the statement was barely a whisper and Hogan almost missed it. "All that… for nothing."

Hogan leaned forward and rested his hand on Olsen's knee, giving it a little shake. He didn't reply, mostly because there was nothing he could say.

At that moment, Hogan wanted nothing more than to break apart and agonize over the 'what ifs'. But he couldn't change what had happened. He had made his decision and as much as he hated himself for it, it had been the right one. The only one. Hadn't it?

"Sorry, Colonel."

"Don't. Just… don't."

Olsen clapped his hand over Hogan's and nodded before looking away.

Sitting in the back of the truck, with the rain pouring outside, Hogan looked out at the retreating forest and couldn't help but feel thoroughly defeated.


	29. The Self-Inflicted Wound

Hogan and Olsen bailed out of the truck before they got too close to Stalag 13. What would have been an hour or more of picking their way through a heavily patrolled forest was cut down to less than ten minutes on the road. Hogan was half-tempted to just ride the truck all the way into camp, but if anyone saw either of them in the compound, in German uniforms, when they were supposed to be in the cooler, no amount of sweet talking would save him and Olsen from a date in front of the firing squad.

"I think I had a nicer landing when I was shot down," Olsen groused as he slid off the road into a ditch, clutching his shoulder.

"You all right?" Hogan asked.

"Fine, Colonel," Olsen replied, waving off his concern. "I'll be even better once we get out of this rain."

Considering that his own landing had caused his ribs to flare up painfully, Hogan wasn't entirely convinced Olsen was telling the truth but let it slide. "All right, let's go."

The two prisoners darted into the brush and quickly made their way through the familiar forest surrounding Stalag 13. This close to camp, there weren't any patrols so they simply had to stay within the treeline to keep from being spotted by the guard towers.

A spotlight cut through the rain and Hogan shied behind a tree, waiting for it to pass. No more than twenty feet off, the trees thinned and he could just make out a group of tree stumps. Hogan jerked his head towards the stumps, signalling Olsen to go ahead. Obediently, Olsen crept past him and scurried towards the tunnel entrance. Hogan watched as he lifted the top of a tree trunk and disappeared into the ground. Hogan waited for the searchlight to pass again before he followed Olsen's lead. As soon as the trap door shut and Hogan let out a sigh of relief.

They had made it home. For whatever good it would do them, they had made it back in one piece. Hogan's arms began to shake as he climbed down the ladder and when his feet hit the ground, his legs almost turned into jelly under his weight.

"Well… now what?" Olsen asked.

Hogan took a deep breath and looked down the tunnel. Now what? Now he had to go tell his men that he had blown up the penicillin so that he and Olsen could get home. Now he had to watch Carter slip away because of a stupid infection he couldn't fight off by himself. Now… now he had to start getting use to the guilt that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Hogan hung his head and shook it. "Come on, Olsen," he said as he slowly started down the tunnel.

There was no one around to greet him, which Hogan counted as a blessing. He didn't know what he would do if all his men were there to greet him, anxiously awaiting the penicillin they believe he had brought with him. He couldn't face them all at once, not yet.

It didn't take long at all to reach Newkirk's sewing room where Carter was probably still recovering from his surgery. That was, if he was even still alive. How long had he and Olsen been gone? Three days? A week? He could barely remember. It felt like a year since he had left in search of the miracle drug that would save Carter's life.

Clutching at the curtain that separated the room from the main tunnel, Hogan took a few deep breaths in order to steady himself before pulling back the curtain.

The room was dark, with only a few lamps offering a faint glow. Carter lay on a table in the middle of the room, much like he had been when Hogan had left. Aside from the injured sergeant, the room was empty. Where was everyone? Hogan glanced at his watch. Roll call. But where was Colonel Potter.

Hogan shrugged. He wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. And right now, being alone was definitely a gift. It gave him the opportunity to talk to Carter one on one- a chance explain himself to the man he had let down without anyone else listening in and judging his actions.

Glancing over his shoulder, Hogan saw Olsen in the doorway, still holding his arm. "Go find the doc would ya?"

"Right." Olsen nodded and ducked back into the tunnel.

With a sigh, Hogan walked up to the table and gazed down at Carter. The sergeant was awfully still. Hesitantly Hogan held his hand up to Carter's face and was relieved to find he was still breathing. Still alive.

For some reason, that knowledge weighed on Hogan's chest like a ton of lead. If Carter was still alive, it meant that Hogan would be there when he finally succumbed to infection.

Hogan wanted to run. He wanted to hide and wait until all this was over. But he knew he could never hide from the guilt.

"Hey, Carter," Hogan said, somehow finding his voice through the lump that had formed in his throat. He realized it was somewhat cowardly to confront Carter while he was unconscious, but as far as Hogan knew, Carter would never wake up again. And he needed to let him know that…

That what? What exactly was he going to say to him? Sorry? That just wouldn't cut it.

"I didn't get it," Hogan finally said, figuring the direct approach was the best way. Like ripping off a bandage- it was better to just do it and get it over with. "The penicillin. I blew it up. I had no other choice. If I hadn't… If Olsen and I had been captured, the whole operation would've been compromised! Our contacts, the whole camp, everyone would have been in danger! If there had been some other way I-"

Hogan cut himself off, and stopped, having begun pacing during his rant. He realized that he was no longer talking to Carter- instead, he was trying to justify his actions to himself. As if the whys really mattered. They certainly wouldn't to Carter. The only thing that mattered was that now Carter had absolutely no chance of getting out of this alive.

"I'm sorry, Carter," Hogan said quietly, resting his hand on Carter's arm. "I know that's not enough, but… I wish…" Again, Hogan cut himself off. Everything just sounded so trite. Obviously he wished it had turned out differently. But the reality was that it hadn't and no amount of pretty talk would change that.

"You trusted me. You shouldn't have." Hogan could almost hear Carter's protest. 'Gee, Colonel, you tried your best.' Carter, always the optimist. He was a good man. The best. In fact, if he were awake, he'd probably even forgive Hogan for sacrificing him for the good of the outfit.

"Don't!" Hogan ordered. "Don't you dare forgive me for this!" God knew he would never forgive himself.

Suddenly weary, Hogan sank onto a pile of crate that was sitting by the table. "Don't forgive me, no matter how sorry I am."

"Now that's the most damned foolish request I've ever heard."

Hogan started in surprise and looked over his shoulder to see Colonel Potter entering the room. "Doc, I-"

"Was wallowing in guilt. I heard."

Hogan sighed and looked down. He didn't need a lecture right now though he certainly deserved one. "I let him down."

"Sergeant Olsen gave me a rundown on what happened," Potter said quietly. "Sounds like you did your damnedest to get that penicillin here."

"But I didn't and now-"

"Son, listen to me," Potter said softly, resting a hand on Hogan's shoulder. "I've been a doctor for more than twenty years and there have been times when I did everything to save someone and it just wasn't enough. And no matter how often it happens, it still hurts. But guilt has a way of eating at a man's soul. And I can tell you I would lose more patients if I let my failures come back and haunt me every time I went into surgery."

"It's not the same. It's-" Hogan's voice died. It wasn't like Hogan could redeem himself by doing better next time. Carter wasn't just another nameless face in a long line of men that Hogan had commanded. Carter, Kinch, Newkirk, LeBeau- they were as close to Hogan as anyone had ever been. And losing one of them was a blow Hogan would never be able to recover from, no matter how many other successes he had.

"I know. But there are still men here who count on you. They all need you. And you can't let guilt keep you from leading them. And when Sergeant Carter recovers, I'm sure he'll need you to think of a way to get him home."

"I don't think I can-" Hogan paused and looked at Colonel Potter and blinked. "What? When he recovers? I thought… Olsen told you-"

"It's a long story, Colonel, but we got the penicillin," Potter said.

"But… how?"

"London dropped it. We picked it up."

It took a moment for the news to sink in. And when it did, Hogan felt a surge of hope. They had penicillin. Carter would be okay.

His hope, however, was quickly swept away by a tidal wave of self-loathing. If it hadn't been for his men picking up his slack then-

"Don't go there, son. You made the call to London. They dropped it on your orders."

"Only because you forced-"

"Sufferin' sheep dip!" Potter cried, his face going red. "Now you're just looking for things to beat yourself up with! Might as well take a pistol and shoot yourself in the foot! Well, go ahead! And after I operate, I'll pump you full of the penicillin that-"

"All right, all right, I surrender," Hogan said, holding up his hands in defeat. He let out a small sigh and turned his gaze back to Carter. "So he's going to be all right?" Potter didn't answer right away. "Doc?"

"He's still running a high fever," Potter finally confessed. "We should know in an hour or so."

That didn't sound too promising. Hogan gripped Carter's hand. "I'll stay with him."

Potter nodded and set about stacking another pile of crates next to Hogan. He sat down and rested a hand on Hogan's knee. "I'll wait with you."

As they sat, Hogan wondered just how their silent vigil would end. Come on, Carter, he thought. You can lick this. Piece of pie.


	30. No Time for Guilt

Kinch let out a long breath. So far, so good. Evening and morning roll call had gone off without a hitch. And the camp was still standing. But that was basically it for things that were going well. The last time he had checked, Carter was still out and there was no sign that his fever was going down. And just where was Colonel Hogan and Olsen? Kinch was starting to get worried about them. And the longer Hogan was gone, the better the chance something would come up that Kinch couldn't handle himself.

The thought had barely left his mind when LeBeau came out of the colonel's room. "Trouble, Kinch. On the coffeepot."

Kinch groaned and eased himself off the bench at the common table. His leg still hurt, but at least now it was down to a dull ache. It would take a little time for it to heal fully, but until then, Kinch was sure he could manage the pain.

"What sort of trouble, LeBeau?" Kinch asked as they made their way back into Colonel Hogan's room.

"General Burkhalter kind of trouble."

Kinch grimaced. "I thought he was still in bed," he said, looking to LeBeau for some sort of explanation.

LeBeau shrugged. "He was very ill this morning," was all he could reply.

Kinch turned his attention to the coffeepot and General Burkhalter's voice as it filtered through the speaker. "You are incompetent! You are bumbling!" The general's voice sounded weak, but it was still enough to strike fear into Klink.

"General Burkhalter, please, you are still very sick. There is no need to be hasty. Why don't you go back into bed, I can bring you some schnapps-"

"Klink! I have had enough of your hospitality. Not only are you a pathetic excuse for a colonel, but you fail as a nurse! I will be in town until I recover!"

"Of course, Herr General, an excellent idea. May I suggest the-"

"No you may not!"

"Of course, forget I said anything. You obviously know the best places to go already."

General Burkhalter heaved a longsuffering sigh. "Klink," he continued, his voice low and serious despite being weak. "When I recover, I will be back. And if you have not found your escaped prisoner by then, I suggest you start learning Russian. It will be very useful when you are transferred to the Russian front!"

"Y-yes, Herr General. Do not worry, he will be found."

"For your sake, he had better be."

Kinch turned off the coffeepot- he had heard enough to know that they were about to be in some big trouble. Any moment, Burkhalter would leave and it wouldn't be long after that Klink would realize that he needed Hogan's help to get out of his current predicament.

"Newkirk's shadowing Schultz, right?"

"Oui," LeBeau replied. "He started again this morning."

"Good." Kinch looked at his watch. "We've got maybe five minutes before Klink calls him to go get Colonel Hogan from the cooler. I need you and Newkirk to create a diversion that will side-track him."

"What sort of a diversion?"

"A fight will do the trick. Get a big group," Kinch instructed, though he wasn't sure it was such a good idea to give LeBeau and Newkirk permission to fight each other, even if it was only to distract Schultz and the other guards. There were still some hurt feelings simmering under the surface; they might get a little carried away.

Kinch pushed that concern out of his mind. "I'll get on the horn with the underground, see if they've heard from the colonel and Olsen." Kinch checked his watch again. "They should be back by now," he muttered anxiously. Maybe something had gone wrong. Maybe they were hurt. Maybe… maybe they were back and they hadn't had a chance to let Kinch know yet.

"All right, let's get going," Kinch said. LeBeau nodded and scurried out of the room. Kinch followed, slower than the French corporal, and made his way to his bunk. Opening the hatch to the tunnels, Kinch climbed down the ladder as fast as he could. He was halfway down when he heard a cry of pain, followed by a string of violent curses. He was still a few feet up when he jumped off the ladder entirely. A shot of pain ripped up his leg when he landed but he ignored it. Whirling around, he found Olsen sitting on a cot, holding his shoulder and still cursing. Wilson stood by, looking down at Olsen, hands on his hips.

"I told you it was going to hurt!" Wilson exclaimed, exasperated. "But would you take anything for it? No! Stubborn, stupid- all of you. I have half a mind to sic the doctor on you and-"

"Olsen? You okay?" Kinch asked, interrupting Wilson's angry tirade.

"Dislocated my shoulder," Olsen ground out through gritted teeth. "Wilson fixed me up."

Relief washed over Kinch. Olsen was back, relatively undamaged. That meant that Colonel Hogan had to be around somewhere. And Kinch had a pretty good idea where to start looking. "Colonel Hogan okay?"

Olsen sighed and rubbed his head before dropping his hand into his lap. "I don't know. I mean, he's not hurt but-" Olsen broke off and looked away. "We blew up the penicillin, Kinch," he whispered. "We didn't bring it back. And I know you guys managed to bring some in, but… The colonel's gotta be torn up with guilt right now."

Olsen didn't exactly look guilt-free himself. In fact, he looked like a train wreck. Kinch felt a rush of sympathy for the fellow sergeant and rested a hand on his uninjured shoulder. Olsen grabbed his arm and held it silently for a moment. They stood silently for a moment.

As much as Kinch wanted to comfort Olsen, he just didn't have time. He needed to find Hogan and get the colonel to come up with some plan to keep Klink safe. The colonel's guilt could wait. Right now, he needed to be Colonel Hogan, the man with a plan for everything. The silver-tongued devil that could pull the operation through any scrape, no matter how hopeless it seemed.

Kinch gave Olsen's shoulder a quick squeeze before silently leaving to find the colonel. He headed straight for Carter's room. Sure enough, Colonel Hogan was there, perched on a pile of crates at Carter's bedside. Tableside. Kinch had expected to find him with a little black rain cloud hanging over his head but though the colonel looked tired, Kinch was surprised to see he didn't look beaten. Anxious, but not hopeless. Kinch cast a glance towards Colonel Potter who was busying himself with a few instruments. Kinch would bet his last dollar that the cantankerous old cavalry man had given Colonel Hogan and good, swift talking to. Apparently it had had an impact on the colonel.

"Colonel?"

Colonel Hogan tore his gaze away from Carter to meet Kinch's eyes. "Hi Kinch." He sounded tired.

"How is he?" Kinch asked, nodding towards Carter.

"Don't know yet," Colonel Potter answered.

Hogan cast Carter a worried glance, before focussing back on Kinch. "Everything all right while I was gone, Kinch?"

"Everything was fine. But we've got a problem." Colonel Hogan perked up, waiting for Kinch to continue. "General Burkhalter is leaving camp. He threatened Klink with the Russian front if he hasn't found Carter by the time he comes back."

"Be nice if we could keep him from coming back permanently," Hogan muttered.

"Colonel," Kinch said warily. They couldn't just off General Burkhalter. Hogan knew that. But then again, stress could-

"Relax, he's safe," Colonel Hogan said quickly. He got up and grabbed his elbows as he paced a few tight circuits. "It's a sure bet Carter can't be recaptured any time soon." Again, he gave Carter a worried look. He looked over at Potter, who heaved a sigh and shook his head. Hogan dropped his head and rocked back and forth on his heels, still clutching his elbows. "I'd better get to the cooler. I'll think of something." He started towards the door. "Thanks for holding down the fort, Kinch."

"I do my best, Colonel."

A half-smile tugged on Hogan's lips but quickly faded. "Doc, if Carter doesn't… Just keep me informed." And with that, he disappeared out of the room.

Kinch debated following him out and going back up top, but he hadn't checked up on Carter for hours. And if his fever hadn't broken yet, then there wouldn't be much time left to spend with him.

Kinch took a seat and grabbed Carter's hand. "Hey, Carter." He looked over his shoulder at Colonel Potter. "What's the verdict?"

"I don't know. He hasn't shown any sign of-"

As if to prove him wrong, Carter made the tiniest noise. Potter dropped what he was doing and practically pushed Kinch out of the way which was no small feat considering how much bigger the sergeant was. Potter pulled open Carter's eyelid and studied him for a moment before putting his hand against his face. "Give me a minute," Potter said before Kinch could ask anything.

There were a few tense moments as Potter took Carter's temperature. "Atta boy," Potter finally said.

Kinch's face split into a grin. "Is he okay?"

Potter nodded. "Fever's going down. I think he's out of the woods." Potter laughed and grabbed Kinch's shoulder. "He's going to be okay."

Kinch felt a surge of hope. Things were going to be all right.


	31. A Reliable Rumour

As he raced through the tunnels, Hogan tore off the remnants of his filthy German uniform and changed into his regular clothes, almost without breaking his stride. As soon as he had covered the tunnel entrance in the cooler, he dove into bed. Tipping his hat to cover his eyes, Hogan crossed his arms over his chest, looking for all the world like a bored prisoner snoozing away his sentence in the cooler.

It turned out his haste had been unnecessary. He had almost dozed off for real before he heard someone in the hall. It took a moment for him to fully wake and realize that it was LeBeau and Newkirk causing a ruckus.

"Really, Schultzie! You're going to put me in the cooler with a cracked skull? It's not decent!"

"Your head has always been cracked!" LeBeau accused.

"Tsk, tsk! You are friends, you should not fight," Schultz scolded.

"He started it!" Newkirk cried.

"You sound like my children!" Schultz lamented.

"Do you throw them in the cooler too when they fight?" LeBeau asked.

"Of course not!"

"So why are you sending us?"

"I did not send you. Colonel Klink sent you. And now that you are here, I have to collect Colonel Hogan."

"Colonel Hogan, you say? Blimey, Schultz, you ought to take a little while to round up those other blokes who were fighting. After all, it's not fair that me and my mate LeBeau are the only ones to be punished."

"Believe me, I do not want to get Colonel Hogan but the Kommandant ordered me. And when the Kommandant orders me to get Colonel Hogan, I must get Colonel Hogan, even if I cannot find him."

"Am I lost?" Colonel Hogan called.

"Colonel Hogan?" three voices said in unison, all equally surprised.

There was the jingling of keys and the scraping sound of the lock before the door opened to reveal a very relieved looking Schultz in the hall. "Colonel Hogan! You are here!"

"Where else would I be?"

"Nowhere! You are right where you should be!"

"Now that that's settled, I'd like to go back to being Rip Van Winkle and sleeping out the rest of my sentence."

"Colonel Hogan, I would love to let you stay in the cooler to sleep, you know I would, but Kommandant Klink told me to come and get you. He said it was very urgent."

"What's he want?"

"I do not know. All I know is that General Burkhalter has been very sick and-"

Hogan arched an eyebrow. "And he's blaming Klink? I admit, talking to Klink can make anyone nauseous, but-"

"Colonel Hogan, please, I do not know why he was sick, I do not care why he was sick, all I know is that he is very angry at Colonel Klink and that he threatened to send him to the Russian Front. And if Colonel Klink goes to the Russian Front, he will bring me along!"

"Well, we can't have that!" Hogan clapped his knee and jumped up to follow Schultz out. "After all, who would be our patsy for poker if you left?"

"Jolly joker."

As they marched out of the cooler, Hogan cast a glance towards LeBeau and Newkirk's barred cell. They give him a quick nod. They had obviously started a fight in order to distract Schultz and Klink and buy him some time to return to camp. Usually, Hogan checked in with his men right away after returning from a long trip, but his worry for Carter had made him completely forget. Hopefully they wouldn't be too sore at him when they found out their trip to the cooler had been for nothing.

As they made their way into the compound, Hogan's mind was whirling away, trying to come up with a way out of this whole mess. There was no way that Klink would be able to find Carter. Even if Carter did pull through- which he would, Hogan forcefully reminded himself- it would be weeks before he was well enough to leave the tunnels and by then, it would be too late for Klink. And even if Klink got a second chance, Carter still couldn't come back; there would just be too many questions. Where had Carter been for all those weeks? How did he avoid capture? Who helped him?

No, Carter wasn't going to be recaptured. Not now, not ever. That fact raised a whole new set of problems, but Hogan pushed them aside. He would deal with that later.

The problem now was how would he save Klink's skin without Carter?

Hogan didn't have any more time to think about it, suddenly finding himself standing outside of Klink's office. Schultz knocked and poked his head into the room, informing the Kommandant that he had brought Hogan.

"You wanted to see me Kommandant?" Hogan asked as he stepped into the room. Casually, he tossed his cap onto Klink's helmet. Klink didn't even flinch at that.

"Hogan, you must help me!" Klink cried, wringing his hands. "General Burkhalter will be back any day and if I can't find Sergeant Carter, he will send me to the Russian Front!" Klink grabbed his arms and shivered. "It's almost been a week already!"

"Well, look at the bright side, Kommandant," Hogan said with a shrug, "we're barely into autumn. You'll have the time to acclimatize before winter hits."

Klink gave him a sour look. "Thank-you for that encouraging thought." He marched up to Hogan and held a finger in front of his face. "This is all your fault!" he accused.

Hogan took a step back and placed a hand on his chest. "My fault? Just how do you figure that?"

"You are senior prisoner-of-war. No one escapes without your permission. You planned this escape to get rid of me!" Klink sighed and threw his hands up into the air. Whirling around on his heels, he stalked back to his desk and slumped down into his chair. "For two years I have ruled this camp with an iron fist, but I have always been fair. What did I do to make you hate me so?"

Hogan rolled his eyes. "Have you ever thought of becoming a dramatic actor?" He flopped into a chair opposite Klink's desk. "Look it wasn't personal. For two years we haven't had one successful escape. The odds had to turn in our favor eventually."

"Yes, by why did it have to be now?" Klink grumbled.

Hogan shrugged. "We were going to wait until the Russian front came to Germany- that way you wouldn't have such a long trip." Klink scowled. "Look, forget Carter; he's long gone. But!" Hogan jumped up and paced for a moment. "Suppose you find someone better!"

Klink leaned forward, interested. "Yes? Who? Who better?"

"The Fourth Horseman," Hogan whispered conspiratorially.

Klink smacked his desk. "The Fourth Horseman? The Fourth Horseman! If I cannot find a simple sergeant, how do you expect me to find a legendary war hero?"

Hogan pressed his lips together and shifted his gaze about the room. Immediately Klink caught on to his suspicious behavior and jumped out of his chair, sliding next to Hogan. "You know something, don't you," Klink accused.

"Oh boy, you're going to make me tell you, aren't you? Well I can't!"

"What do you know, Hogan? I warn you, I will use force if I have to!" Klink threatened, stamping his foot.

"Come on Kommandant, we both know you catch more flies with honey."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means threats don't work too well. Getting rid of my cooler sentence on the other hand…"

Klink folded his arms over his chest and turned around. "I don't negotiate with prisoners."

"Well! After all that talk about how you always tried to be fair. Well, consider my lips sealed!" And with that, Hogan mimicked Klink's action and turned around, arms crossed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Klink look back at him, his resolve crumbling. Finally the Kommandant threw his hands up in defeat and turned back.

"All right. Your sentence is over. Now tell me-"

"What about my men?" Hogan asked, still facing away.

"Your men?"

"LeBeau, Newkirk, Ol-"

Klink's face got a little red. "LeBeau and Newkirk were caught fighting in the compound. They must be sentenced to set an example."

"Their fighting was the result of being without their commanding officer for almost a week. That kind of breakdown of discipline is bound to happen."

Klink gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine! LeBeau and Newkirk are free as well."

"And Olsen?"

Klink scowled. "Perhaps you'd just like the key to the cooler!" he said sarcastically.

"Well, if you're offering then-"

Klink stamped his foot. "I let you, LeBeau and Newkirk out. That should be enough for you."

"Okay, okay," Hogan conceded, realizing he had pushed Klink far enough. He did, however, feel a stab of guilt that Olsen was stuck in the cooler for another three weeks. He'd figure out a way to spring him eventually. "Now, keep in mind, this is just a rumor. I mean, I don't even know if it's true, but you know how some people talk. You'd be surprised at the bits of information we can pick up from transient prisoners and all that. Why there was one time we had a temporary prisoner named Walters and he-" Hogan laughed at the imaginary memory- "and he told us this story about-"

"Hogan!" Klink interrupted.

"Right. Well there's a rumor that there's a rundown, abandoned farmhouse not too far away that has a field where Allied planes will land to pick up British commandos."

"Uh huh, and you think that the commandos that took Colonel Potter are waiting there for a plane?" Klink sounded both incredulous and hopeful. Hogan just shrugged. "Why not? Why not? It's so crazy it might just be true!"

"Well, like I said, it was just a rumor," Hogan said. "I mean, if you want to go there and check it out yourself, you're more than welcome. And if you do happen to find Colonel Potter there, well, General Burkhalter might be so impressed that he'll forget all about Carter."

"I don't suppose I have anything to lose by trying," Klink said sagely. "Where did you say this farmhouse was?"

Hogan scratched his head. "I didn't get that part of the story. But I know who did."

A wary expression crossed Klink's face. "Who?"

"Now that I think about it, it was Sergeant Olsen. But seeing as how he's in the cooler, I doubt he'd be willing to tell us."

"Somehow I am not surprised," Klink grumbled. "Very well. I'll release Sergeant Olsen from the cooler. But if this does not turn out well, I will throw your entire barracks into the cooler." He looked Colonel Hogan up and down suspiciously. "Just how reliable is this rumor?"

"Very reliable," Hogan assured him. "You're going to be a hero."

"I will be, won't I? I am going to catch the Fourth Horseman!" Klink said, puffing out his chest.

"You sure are." Hogan just had to make sure Potter was there to be caught.


	32. And the Winner is Pie

Colonel Hogan managed to convince Colonel Klink to wait until after evening roll call to go after the Fourth Horseman, giving him time to brief his men and get Colonel Potter where he needed to be. If everything went according to plan, Klink and the operation would be safe.

"Blimey, Colonel, we thought you'd never make it back," Newkirk said as he, Hogan, LeBeau and Olsen entered their barracks, all having been released from the cooler.

"We almost didn't," Hogan stated bluntly. "It's for sure the penicillin didn't make it back."

"What?" LeBeau said, surprised. "What happened to it?"

"Long story," Olsen said before Hogan could open his mouth. "Besides it doesn't matter seeing as how you brought some in yourself."

"Good job on that, by the way," Hogan added. "You might have saved Carter's life." Hogan ignored the nagging voice in his head that told him that it had been his responsibility to do that.

"Oui. We were lucky," LeBeau said with a nod. "I was worried the doctor would get himself killed going out there and-"

That stopped Hogan cold for a moment. The doctor? The doctor had gone out to get the penicillin? He hadn't mentioned that little bit of information. Had he? "Hold it! Wait a minute, LeBeau," Hogan said, grabbing LeBeau's shoulder. "Are you telling me that _Colonel Potter_ went out to get that penicillin?" LeBeau and Newkirk exchanged a look before LeBeau nodded. "Whose idea was that?" Hogan demanded, though he had a pretty good idea who had thought up that beauty of a plan.

"The colonel's, sir," Newkirk said. "But he did take LeBeau with him. And, believe you me, Colonel, I tried talking him out of it- we all did, didn't we, LeBeau."

"Oui," LeBeau confirmed with a nod.

"But he made it an order, Colonel, and seeing as how he's a colonel and he outranks all of us put together well, that was that, sir." Newkirk shrugged.

"Oh fine. And if he had been hurt? Then what? We'd have to bring in another doctor to patch him up. We could hold a damn medical convention in the tunnels!"

"No need for that, sir. The doctor fixed himself up," Newkirk said. Hogan's eyebrows shot up. "Just a little nick on the arm, that's all," Newkirk quickly added. "Other than that, he's as right as rain."

LeBeau visibly paled. "You mean he sewed up his own arm? Sacre chat." LeBeau swayed on his feet and both Newkirk and Olsen grabbed him to hold him steady.

Hogan wanted to be angry with Potter. Furious. Livid. How could he go out like that and not only risk his own life, but the operation? If he had been caught or killed, it would have been disastrous. But then again, they all took risks. If Hogan and Olsen had been caught or killed, it would have been just as disastrous. This whole business was about taking a chance and hoping that planning and luck were enough to pull it off. Potter had taken a chance and it had paid off. And because of that, there was hope that Carter would recover.

Still, all that wouldn't keep Potter from getting a good, stern talking to. He was a doctor, not a spy. And, if Hogan was being perfectly honest, he really wanted a chance to chew Potter out after having been on the receiving end of a few lectures from the lower ranking doctor. Petty? Maybe. But Hogan could live with being a little petty every now and then.

"The doctor's one tough cookie," Olsen said, sounding impressed.

"Yeah. Glad he's on our side," Hogan said as he smacked Kinch bunk, opening the trap door to the tunnel. "I don't know whether to demote him or give him a medal."

"I think we all know the answer to that one, Colonel," Newkirk said.

"Yeah. But first things first," Hogan said.

"What's that?" Newkirk asked.

"The first thing we've got to do is save Klink. And to do that, the good doctor is going to have to pull off another caper."

"What do you mean, Colonel?" LeBeau asked.

"I'll explain downstairs." And with that, Hogan started down the ladder, his three men following close behind. From the radio room, they could hear voices drifting out of Newkirk's sewing room and as they got closer, they could make out the owners- Potter, Kinch, Wilson.

And Carter.

It was quiet and weak, but it was definitely Carter's voice.

Hogan's heart skipped a beat as he pushed past the curtain and into the room. Potter, Kinch and Wilson were gathered around Carter, who was trying to drink some water with the doctor's help. All four paused and looked up at Hogan's entrance.

"Carter?" Hogan asked, approaching the table where Carter lay, not sure if he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Was Carter all right? He was awake, that had to be a good sign.

Carter gave him a lazy, half smile. "Piece of cake, Colonel," he said softly.

"Pie, Carter. Pie," Hogan said with a wide grin, relief washing over him.

"Oh sure," Carter drawled, his words forming slowly, "now you see it my way. I should almost die more often."

"Don't even joke, Carter."

"Is that you, Andrew?" Newkirk called loudly, pushing his way past Kinch and the doctor to see for himself. "Well look who decided to wake up and grace us with his presence again."

"Formidable, Carter. I knew you would pull through!" LeBeau cried. "How do you feel?"

Carter scrunched his nose. "Lousy."

"I'd take lousy over half-dead any day," Kinch said.

"Me too," Hogan agreed. "Glad to have you back, Carter."

Carter hummed a bit at that before yawning, his eyes half closing. "Don't know why I'm so tired. Been sleeping all week," he murmured. "Feel so lazy."

"Morphine will do that to you, son. And you just got a whole rump full just now," Potter said. "Sorry, boys, but visiting hours are over." To emphasize his point, Carter dropped off to sleep.

"He going to be okay, Doc?" Hogan asked. "I mean, he was awake, that must mean that he's doing better."

Potter nodded. "He is and he will. His temperature's gone down. He won't be blowing anything up anytime soon, but I think he's going to be just fine."

Newkirk and LeBeau let out a hearty cheer but instantly quieted and winced, glancing over at Carter. Potter tsked and herded everyone out into the hallway.

"Thanks, Doc," Hogan said. "For everything."

"My pleasure, son."

"We just have one more favor to ask."

Potter arched an eyebrow. "What's that?"

Hogan took a deep breath before continuing. "We need you to be recaptured."

"What?" Hogan's men said in unison. For his part, Colonel Potter remained silent, as if waiting for an explanation. Which Hogan was about to give before his men started to protest on Potter's behalf.

"What do you mean, recaptured?"

"Why?"

"What's the deal, Colonel?"

"All right, hold it," Hogan said, raising his hands for silence. His men quieted down. "Look, if Colonel Klink doesn't recapture Carter, General Burkhalter is going to send him to the Russian front."

Now Potter protested. "You can't move him yet. He won't be on his feet for weeks."

"Exactly. So if Klink can't recapture Carter then the next best thing is-"

"To capture a high-profile escapee like the doctor," Kinch finished, realization dawning on his face.

"Exactly. If Klink can capture the Fourth Horseman, Burkhalter might be willing to let Carter's escape slide."

Potter gave Hogan a suspicious look. "All right, fine. But just why is it so important to save this Colonel Klink? He's the tall skinny guy who was there when I fixed that general's foot, right?" he asked, glancing at Wilson, who nodded. "The man's a damned fool. I could see that in the two minutes I was in the room with him. Why would you want to keep him around?"

"Because he's a damned fool," Hogan answered. "Which makes him an important part of our operation."

It took a minute, but finally Potter's eyes lit up. "Ah. I suppose it would be hard for you cowboys to go off and pull all these crazy stunts if he _wasn't_ a fool."

"Exactly. Which is why we have to take every measure to protect him."

"All right, I'm game. What's the plan, son?"

Hogan snapped his fingers and motioned for everyone to follow him into the radio room. There, he took out a map of the area and pointed to a spot. "LeBeau, after roll call, you take the doctor here. There's an old, abandoned farmhouse there. Stay outside and cover the place, just in case a patrol stumbles upon it before we get there. Olsen and I will lead Klink there, who will bring the doctor back to Stalag 13. Easy."

"Simple," Newkirk agreed.

"Cannot possibly go wrong," LeBeau chimed in.

"But what happens after that?" Kinch asked. "After he's recaptured, he'll be sent off to the Gestapo for questioning." Kinch. Always the voice of reason.

"Blimey, he's right. And you don't want to be left to that lot," Newkirk said, furrowing his brow.

"Obviously we're not going to let that happen. We'll have a few commandos- Olsen, LeBeau and myself- rescue the doctor when he's en route to Gestapo headquarters."

"But then we'll be right back where we started. Klink will lose his bargaining chip," Kinch pointed out.

Hogan smirked. "Don't worry, Kinch. I'm going to insist that Colonel Klink make out a report to send to the Gestapo, co-signed by General Burkhalter himself."

"What good will that do?" LeBeau asked.

"A simple bit of insurance that will put General Burkhalter in the hot seat and keep Klink safe."

Newkirk cocked his head to the side. "You've got a brilliant plan in that head of yours, Colonel Hogan. Just wish I knew what it was."

Hogan broke out into a grin. "All in good time, Newkirk. Trust me; it's the best plan yet."


	33. A Prisoner Again

Hogan glanced at his watch. Three minutes until they reached the farmhouse. After roll call, Hogan had stalled Klink long enough to give his LeBeau time to get Potter there and settled in. Now he, Olsen, Schultz, and Klink were headed there in Klink's staff car. A truck, full of Klink's men, followed behind.

"Hogan, are you sure about this?" Klink asked nervously.

"Colonel Klink, have I ever steered you wrong before?" Hogan replied innocently.

Klink scowled and Hogan saw his knee jump, as if he has instinctively stamped his foot. "Yes! The whole reason we are even here is because you steered me wrong!"

"Relax," Hogan said dismissively as he leaned back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head.

"Relax he says," Klink said, wringing his hands. "How can I relax when we are about to confront the Fourth Horsemen. And who knows how many commandos are with him."

"Look, what are you worrying about? You've got a whole truckload of men, armed to the teeth. Not to mention Schultz here- a real killer!"

"Who? Me?" Schultz cried in surprise.

"We're here, Colonel," Olsen suddenly announced, pointing over the steering wheel to the farmhouse just ahead. "Right where that guy said it would be. Who knew camp gossip could be so reliable?"

Klink leaned forward over the front seat and looked suspiciously at Olsen. "And just who gave you this information, Sergeant?"

Olsen shrugged nonchalantly. "Don't remember his name, Colonel. He was only in camp for a week."

"And yet you remember the exact details, enough to drive us here?"

"Well, I figured I'd use it for my escape, sir."

"Enough of our insolence!" Klink said, smacking the seat. "No one escapes Stalag 13! No one!"

"No one except Carter," Hogan chimed in helpfully.

Klink sagged and dropped back into his seat. "Yes, yes, no one but that dummkopf."

"Don't worry, Colonel," Hogan said. "When we find the Fourth Horsemen, no one will care about Carter." That was the plan, anyway. "Well, guess you better get out there and lead the charge."

"You herd him Schultz! Get out there and lead the charge!" Klink ordered.

"Who? Me?" Schultz repeated, his hands shaking as he gripped his rifle tightly.

"You really think the Fourth Horseman is going to surrender to a sergeant?" Hogan cried, aghast. "Why, only the kommandant of the toughest POW camp in all of Germany could do that."

Klink groaned, but opened his door anyway, grabbing the megaphone beside him. Standing behind the car for protection, he waved his men to advance on the farmhouse. "All right, you in there!" he called. "You are surrounded! Escape is useless! Surrender!"

There was a quick volley of shots from the farmhouse and Klink dropped to the ground. "Return fire!" he hollered to his men. The guards opened fire, and Hogan winced. He had told Potter to make it look good, but firing shots was a dangerous move.

"Hold your fire," Klink finally ordered. "Do you think we got him?"

A moment later, the doors to the farmhouse opened, and Colonel Potter tentatively stepped out, hands over his head. "Hold your fire! I know when I'm out-gunned."

"Get him, get him!" Klink screamed, pointing at Colonel Potter frantically. "I want him alive!"

Two of Klink's men raced up, and roughly grabbed Potter, pulling him down towards the group. Klink, puffing out his chest, strode out from behind the car and came to a stop in front of Potter. "So! We meet again!" he crowed, tapping Potter's chest with his riding crop. "You thought you could get away? Oh, you might have gotten away from that dummkopf at Oflag 18, but I am much more than clever than he is! Now, tell me, where are the commandos that helped you?"

Potter tightened his lips and stood a little taller. "Potter, Sherman T. Lieutenant Colonel. Serial-"

"Oh I see, you don't want to talk," Klink interrupted. "Well, no matter, we will find them. Schultz! Search the house!"

"M-me? But what if-"

"Schultz, don't be such a coward; I gave you a direct order!" Klink said, stomping his foot.

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!" Schultz said with a shaky salute. He motioned for a few men to follow him as he trekked towards the farmhouse. Of course, Schultz waited outside while the others went in, but he certainly made a show of having a fierce look on his face, and growling orders.

"They won't find anyone there," Potter said curtly. Sure enough, several moments later, the men came out of the farmhouse.

"Herr Kommandant," Schultz said as he clambered back down to the road. "Herr Kommandant, I beg to report that the farmhouse is empty. There is no one there."

Klink frowned and turned his attention back to Potter. "Doctor, I warn you, we have ways of making you talk. You can save yourself a lot of trouble by co-operating now!"

At this, Hogan laughed. "No way you'll get him to talk, Colonel. Look at him- wild horses couldn't drag anything out of him. He's not a legend for nothing!"

"We will see about that!" Klink declared. "Schultz, get him into the truck! We will see what the Gestapo has to say about this!"

* * *

Once back at camp, Potter was swiftly escorted to the cooler, where he was kept under heavy guard. It meant he wouldn't be sneaking into the tunnels that night, which worried Hogan, but he had to trust the Wilson had everything well in hand.

When they got out of the staff car, Hogan nodded to Olsen, who scurried off towards the barracks. He knew what to do. Now, it was time for Hogan to play his part. Quickly, he followed behind Klink, who was making his way back to his office.

"Haha," Klink crowed loudly once inside. He shucked off his overcoat and hung it off before strutting like a peacock to his desk. "I've done it. I've done what no one else has been able to do! The Iron Eagle has caught The Fourth Horseman. Oh, I can see the papers now. I'll probably even get an award!"

"Well, I mean, Olsen and I helped a little bit," Hogan pointed out.

Klink waved the comment aside. "Not now, Hogan. Let me savor this." Grabbing his lapel, Klink stood a little taller, puffed out his chest, and gave a self-satisfied nod. "Now," he said, clapping his hands, then rubbing them together gleefully, "to let General Burkhalter know." Klink sat at his desk and grabbed his phone. "Fraulein Hilda? Get me General Burkhalter right away." Covering the mouthpiece, he looked up at Hogan. "It's all coming together, Hogan. General Burkhalter could not possibly send me to the Russian front now!"

Hogan turned his head to the side and grabbed his elbows. "That's the general idea," he mumbled under his breath. Hopefully Burkhalter would unknowingly play his part perfectly. But, even if he didn't, Hogan was sure his plan would work. It had to. He had had enough rotten luck to last him a life-time.

"Ah, General Burkhalter!" Klink's voice broke Hogan from his thoughts. "It's me." There was a pause. "Colonel Klink. Kommandant of Stalag 13. Oh ho, the general has such an amusing sense of humour." Klink's light tone was betrayed by his scowl. "I trust you are feeling better? Yes, I realize it's late but I have something that will cheer the general right up. No. No, I'm afraid I can't divulge it over the telephone, but I assure the general that if he would just come to Stalag 13, it will be well worth his time. Yes, thank you Herr General. I look forward to seeing you soon."

Klink hung up the phone and looked up at Hogan. "General Burkhalter will be here first thing in the morning!"

"Swell." Hogan turned to leave but stopped before he reached the door. "Shhhh, wait, do you hear that?" Hogan asked, cupping his ear.

Suddenly worried, Klink stood up and cocked his head to the side. "What, what do you hear?"

"The sound of the Russian front moving further away as we speak."

Klink grinned and nodded vigorously. "Yes, I hear it." Klink walked over to his cabinet and pulled out a bottle of schnapps and two glasses. "I realize, of course, that it is against regulations to fraternize with the enemy, but perhaps you would join me for a drink?"

"Well, don't mind if I do," Hogan said with a shrug. To be honest, he could use a drink.

In fact, when all this was over, he might just get completely soused.


	34. An Ungrateful General

That night, after finalizing all their plans for the morning, Hogan had ordered all of his men except Wilson to get a decent night's rest.

In some cases it hadn't been the easiest task. The stress level of the entire barracks was through the roof. In fact, the whole camp seemed out of sorts now that the news about Carter was common knowledge.

Ever since that air raid, everyone had been on high alert, in a constant state of crisis, and there was only so long it could last before people started to crack. Hogan himself was feeling the strain. He had nearly come to blows with Newkirk when the Englishman had flat-out refused to follow orders, instead wanting to stay up and worry over Carter in the tunnels. If Potter had been down there, Hogan would have let him, knowing that the ornery old doctor would chew him up, spit him out, and send him right back. As it was, Hogan opted to simply slip something into Newkirk's drink instead, knocking him out for the night.

With some effort Hogan had forced himself to follow his own orders. If something horrible happened, Wilson would get him. But other than that, he needed a clear head to get through the next day or so.

As promised, Burkhalter's car rolled into camp shortly after morning roll call. After a quick nod to LeBeau, he made a beeline for Klink's office. He arrived to find Burkhalter easing himself into Klink's chair.

"Morning, General Burkhalter," Hogan greeted brightly. Before Burkhalter could question why he was there, Hogan turned his attention to Klink. "Did you tell him the good news yet, Kommandant?"

Puffing out his chest, Klink took a swaggering step forward. "I was just about to! Schultz is on his way with the prisoner!"

General Burkhalter snorted angrily. "Is that why you interrupted my recovery and brought me here, Klink?" he snapped. "To show me that you caught your prisoner?!"

"His prisoner? Ha!" Hogan barked before Klink could explain. "His prisoner is probably halfway back to England by now."

"Hogan, stop helping," Klink hissed.

Burkhalter turned red. "I am confused. Why am I here?!" he demanded. "I warn you, Klink, I am in no mood for your usual incompetence!"

"General please, if you will wait one moment, I will show you." Klink stamped his foot. "Oh where is that dummkopf Schultz?"

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Klink pounced on it and opened it wide."Ah, there he is. Come in Schultz, come in!" He stepped aside to let Schultz through. Potter followed him, hands cuffed in front of him. Another guard was behind him with his rifle pressed against Potter's back. "General Burkhalter, may I present Lieutenant Colonel Sherman Potter. The Fourth Horseman." Klink waved his arm out, presenting his prize.

Burkhalter looked surprised, then looked suspiciously at Hogan. Hogan shrugged, feigning innocence. "Well, Colonel Klink I am-" Burkhalter nearly choked- "impressed. How did you possibly manage?"

"Ah, General Burkhalter, my prisoners are cowed- thoroughly cowed. I squeezed all the information I could from them and, after cleverly piecing it together, I found a secret commando rendezvous point."

Potter, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "He never would have taken me if those cowboys hadn't left me by myself. Damn commandos," he groused.

"Ha ha, Herr Doctor, you must know that The Iron Eagle always catches his prey," Klink boasted. "It is only a matter of time before I find the others!"

"Well, except Carter," Hogan said. "Probably," he added with a shrug.

"Hogan," Klink warned, shaking a fist at him.

Burkhalter grunted and leaned back in his chair. "Klink, am I to assume that you think catching the Fourth Horseman will somehow erase your other failure?"

"Oh, well," Klink said with a nervous little laugh. "Of course, it is a big capture, but-"

"But perhaps the general would like to read Colonel Klink's report first," Hogan interrupted, sliding the report he and Klink had made up the night before across the desk to Burkhalter. "He made me read it of course- so I would know how hopeless it is to go up against him. And you."

Against Klink's protest, the report gave most of the credit to Burkhalter, falling only slightly short of having the general storm the building himself. It was the perfect bait.

Burkhalter grabbed the report and read it over. A smile crept on his face and he nodded. "Yes, I do remember it happening that way," Burkhalter finally said. Looking up, he fixed Potter with a hard glare. "Klink was simply acting under my direction. You are _my_ prisoner, understand?"

"Doesn't damn well matter to me," Potter answered shortly.

"Would the general care to sign my report?" Klink asked, handing Burkhalter a pen. Burkhalter took it and quickly scribbled his signature.

"Now," Burkhalter said to Potter as he eased himself to his feet. "We will see just what you know about the commandos who helped you escape. After killing Kommandant Rubel, they are quickly becoming the most wanted men in Germany."

"Colonel Rubel is dead?" Klink repeated in surprise.

Burkhalter nodded. "And if we cannot find these commandos, we will hold you responsible for his death."

"You're barking up the wrong tree if you think I'll tell you anything!" Potter growled. "I've been dealing with Krauts so long, I remember when Hitler was a corporal!"

"I think you will find our methods of persuasion have evolved since the first war," Burkhalter sneered. "The Gestapo are very good at what they do."

"General, I must protest," Hogan interrupted, stepping in front of Potter. "Handing a prisoner over to the Gestapo is against the Geneva convention, not to mention a nasty, rotten thing to do!"

"Out of the way Hogan," Burkhalter ordered. "Schultz, get a group of men and load Colonel Potter into a truck. I will escort you to Hammelburg and deliver the good colonel to the Gestapo myself."

"Jawohl, Herr General!" Schultz said, firing off a salute and clicking his heels. "Out to the truck, raus, raus." He opened the door and motioned Potter out. The other guard prodded Potter with his rifle and led him away.

"Uh, General," Klink said in a sing-song voice as General Burkhalter started to follow them out. "About my transfer?"

"What about it?" Burkhalter asked.

"Well, perhaps now the General would consider cancelling it?" Klink implored hopefully.

"Why would I do that? _I_ was the one who caught the Fourth Horseman. Not you. All you have done is allow a prisoner to escape." With a catlike smile, Burkhalter nodded and then hobbled out of the room.

"But-but-" Klink called pathetically, reaching out his arms before dropping them in defeat. Whirling on his heel, he glared at Hogan, holding up an accusing finger. "This is your fault! You said if I gave General Burkhalter the credit, he would forget about Carter!"

Hogan opened his eyes wide and held up his hand. "I'm as surprised as you are. Boy, you think you know a guy. I thought he'd be grateful."

"Two years! Two years you've known General Burkhalter, and you thought he would be grateful?" Klink cried. He flapped his arms and let them slap against his sides. "I should have known. I should have known better than to trust either of you!"

"Yeah, some people just don't know how to be grateful," Hogan said with a little shrug. "Well," he said brightly clapping Klink on the shoulder, "look at it this way, Colonel Klink, by the time your transfer gets put through, the Russian front won't be that far away at all."


	35. Ping Pong Potter

In the back of a German truck, surrounded by guards, Potter sat stiffly, trying not to look too nervous.

By now he knew he should trust Hogan. The man might not have had the best of luck lately, but there was no doubt he was incredibly capable. How else could he have kept such an operation going for two years? During his brief stay at Stalag 13, and the limited contact he had with conscious inmates, he had heard a few stories, and they were pretty incredible.

Still, even the most remote possibility that Hogan would fail meant that he was on his way to Gestapo headquarters. And the stories he had heard about _that_ operation were incredibly disturbing and terrifying. The Gestapo weren't the kind of people he wanted to tangle with.

"Anytime, boys," Potter whispered to himself as he glanced at his watch.

The words had barely escaped his lips when the sound of a grenade blowing up filled the air, and the truck came to an abrupt halt. Somewhere up ahead, there was the clatter of gunfire. The guards in the back tensed, seemingly unsure if they should go out and investigate, or if they should stay and guard him.

For his part, Potter kept his rear planted in his seat. Any second the men from Stalag 13 would come and get him from the truck.

Something clattered into the bed of the truck and the Germans shouted in panic. What were they saying? Grenade?

Potter's heart stopped for a moment until the grenade started letting off smoke. Quickly, Potter covered his face as the smoke filled the truck. Rough hands grabbed him and threw him out onto the ground. Through bleary eyes, he looked up to see the German guards around him, coughing and trying to bat away the smoke.

Then, suddenly, one of them dropped like a ton of bricks. Two men in black, their faces covered with bandanas, were in their midst, taking out the guards with quick, precise hits.

Once the guards were out, two more men in black joined them. One offered Potter his hand. Potter took it and pulled himself to his feet. "You boys have some damn funny ideas on how to pull off a rescue," he said between coughs.

"Sorry about that, Colonel. We had to keep it as non-lethal as possible. The Colonel doesn't like killing our own camp guards unless absolutely necessary," the man in black- Olsen?- explained. "You okay?"

The question was mostly given out of politeness because Olsen didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he pulled Potter along, away from the truck and into the brush.

It took a few minutes for Potter's lungs to clear, but he managed to keep up with the four other men as they trekked back to Stalag 13. He couldn't make any claims to his stealth, but he was doing the best he could for an old cavalry man.

Before too long, they were crouching in the brush outside of the camp. The sky, still dark with clouds, let loose a burst of rain, to which he heard LeBeau give a little sigh of relief. Potter fixed him with a curious glance.

"It is daytime," LeBeau explained in a whisper. "It is much harder to sneak back into camp. But the rain dulls the senses. The guards will not be as alert." The little Frenchman pointed to one of the guard towers, and Potter could barely make out the shape of a guard backing away from the railing, attempting to stay dry.

"All right. Wiggins, Fuller, get going. Quick," Olsen ordered. "We've gotta get in safe before-"

Olsen was cut off by a commotion further into the camp, near the main entrance. The sergeant pushed Potter a little lower to the ground while the others instinctively made themselves smaller.

"Burkhalter," LeBeau explained. "It took him less time than I thought."

"He might call for a roll call, and send out patrols," Olsen agreed. "Fuller, Wiggins, now. Guards are distracted."

Wiggins and Fuller, the other two men in their group, barely nodded before sprinting to the tunnel entrance. Quick as lightning, they were gone.

"Now us, Colonel," LeBeau said after a few moments of silence. With surprising strength for his size, the corporal pulled Potter up and along to the tree stump. Potter scrambled in as quickly as he could. When his feet finally hit the dirt floor, he let out a little sigh of relief.

It seemed the last week had been spent going back and forth between Stalag 13 and places unknown. One moment he was in Allied hands, the next in German. One minute in danger, one minute in relative safety- and Potter wasn't sure exactly whose hands matched up with danger, and whose with safety.

"Feel like I'm a damn ping pong ball."

"Gangway," Olsen called from above. Potter sidestepped out of the way just as LeBeau hopped off the ladder, followed shortly by Olsen. Without a word, Olsen nudged LeBeau and both sprinted down the tunnel, shedding black clothing as they went. Fuller and Wiggins were already long gone.

After a deep breath in and out to cool off the excitement, Potter made his way to where he needed to be. His job above ground, as far as he knew, was over, and now he had time to focus completely on his patient.

Carter was alone when he arrived at the recovery room. And, from the look of it, in pain. His whole body was tense, hands clutching the pillow with a white-knuckled grip, and Potter could barely make out the sound of Carter cursing under his breath.

"Easy there, son," Potter said as he stepped into the room. "Just give me a minute here, and I'll give that pain the heave-ho."

Carter didn't answer, instead the sergeant continued to swear to himself in English, German, and another language Potter couldn't identify. It wasn't until Potter had given him a shot of morphine and his body finally relaxed that Carter stopped.

"That was some colorful language, Sergeant," Potter said, slightly amused despite knowing Carter had been in a peck of pain. From what little he knew of the sergeant, it seemed a little out of character.

"Sorry, sir," Carter said, sounding somewhat sheepish. "It's a good- a good thing my mother isn't here- she'd have three bars of soap in my mouth. Where… where is everyone else?"

"My guess is up top," Potter replied. "How long have you been awake?"

Carter started to shrug but winced and shook his head instead. "I don't know. A minute, an hour, a year, ten? Was alone when I came to."

Not too long then. Wilson would have been there until the last possible moment or would have at least placed someone else to stay with Carter. But without anything to dull the pain, it must have seemed like an eternity to Carter.

"How long will I be out of commission, sir?" Carter asked warily, as if he already knew he wasn't going to like the answer.

Potter considered the question for a moment. He didn't want to give definitive answers just yet. His instinct was that Carter would pull through, but the situation and the location would complicate his recovery. "I'll give you the straight poop, son: you're in pretty bad shape," Potter finally said. "It's going to take a while. But you'll pull through. Frankly, at this point, I don't think Colonel Hogan will give you much of a choice."


	36. The Perfect Patsy

It had taken some fancy footwork to keep himself out of the cooler. Klink had, of course, been furious. All that work to capture The Fourth Horseman, and it hadn't kept him off the Russian Front. But, after enduring some hysterics, Hogan had reminded the Kommandant that, technically, he had held up his end of the bargain. He had only promised to help Klink find Potter. Klink had just assumed the rest.

Either way, Klink was worrying for nothing. The ball was already rolling. If everything had gone according to plan, the boys would be back any minute, and Burkhalter wouldn't be far behind.

Just then, the barracks door opened and Newkirk slipped in. "General Burkhalter's just pulled into camp, Colonel," he reported.

Hogan checked his watch again. "What? He's early. Can't these Germans ever be punctual?"

"They back yet?" Newkirk asked, nodding towards the tunnel entrance.

"Not yet," Hogan replied. He glanced over and then to his watch. "Look. I gotta go. If Klink insists on a roll call, I'll try to delay it. Make sure Wilson gets up here."

And with that, he left the barracks and jogged up to Klink's office. He could hear Burkhalter yelling from outside. With nothing more than a token knock, Hogan opened the door and let himself in.

"Colonel Klink, I'd like to lodge a formal-" he cut himself off. "Oh, General Burkhalter," he greeted brightly. "Back so soon?"

"Hogan!" Burkhalter barked. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was just about to tell the Kommandant here that my men are about to riot over what we've been getting for breakfast and-"

"I do not have time for you, Hogan!"

"Colonel Potter has escaped," Klink explained, glancing nervously at Burkhalter.

"He did not escape!" Burkhalter snapped. "We were ambushed by commandos!"

Hogan snapped his fingers and clicked his tongue. "Gee that's too bad. Especially after Colonel Klink sent off that report about your heroic efforts in capturing him."

Burkhalter paled for a moment before turning dark red. "Klink! How could you send in that report?! Do you realize what could happen to me?"

Colonel Klink shrank and manoeuvred himself strategically on the other side of his desk, further from Burkhalter. "Well I-"

Hogan made a big show of holding his watch up and tapping its face. "Why, it only left camp about twenty minutes ago. I'm sure if Colonel Klink contacted a checkpoint along the road, they could stop the messenger."

"Klink! Get on the phone. Now!" Burkhalter ordered.

Klink nodded vigorously and grabbed the phone, but Hogan quickly pushed Klink's hand down. "Wait a minute, what about Klink's transfer?"

"What?" Burkhalter growled.

"Well, if Colonel Klink calls back the report, you'll just send him to the Russian front. That doesn't seem very fair, does it?"

"No," Klink ventured timidly. "It doesn't seem fair at all."

"And the General is nothing if not fair," Hogan added.

Hogan could practically see the smoke coming out of Burkhalter's ears. "Klink," the general seethed.

Hogan held up his watch again. "Yep, must be pretty close to HQ by now. Tick tock, General."

"It seems I have no choice," Burkhalter finally said. "Klink, make the call."

"Yes sir, General!" Klink picked up the phone. "Fraulein Hilda? Connect me to checkpoint- uh checkpoint-"

"D-four," Hogan muttered as he leaned closer to Klink.

"Checkpoint D-four." He paused, nervously twitching as he looked back and forth between Burkhalter and the phone cradle. "Yes, checkpoint D-four? This is Colonel Klink of Stalag 13. I sent out a messenger on motorcycle about twenty minutes ago. You haven't seen him yet? When you do, send him straight back here, do you understand me? Mmmhmm. Yes, call me when you do. Yes. Yes. What was that? Oh yes, of course, Heil Hitler."

Klink hung up the phone triumphantly. "Good news, Herr General! The messenger has not made it to headquarters yet."

"Good. As soon as he returns I want that report burnt!"

"Yes, Herr General!"

"Does that include the film too, sir?" Hogan asked innocently.

"The film?" Burkhalter and Klink repeated in unison.

"Yeah, yeah the film. Klink was so proud of you that he took a photo of the report."

"I did? I mean, yes, I did. But I uh- seem to have misplaced my camera."

"And who knows when it will turn up!" Hogan added with a little shrug.

Burkhalter grimaced. Hogan wasn't sure if he believed that Klink had taken a picture, but he also knew the general couldn't afford to take the chance.

"Well, when you find it, let me know," Burkhalter finally said through his teeth. "As for your transfer, I have decided to put it off until the next escape."

"Thank-you, Herr General!" Klink said with a relieved smile.

"Wait a second- the next escape?" Hogan asked. "I haven't heard of any escape. Not from here."

"Are you forgetting Sergeant Carter?" Burkhalter said testily.

"Sergeant Carter? I know we had a _Lieutenant_ Carter here for a while. But he was put on that truck the other day. You know, the one going to Oflag 18. Of course, you might not remember all that, General, what with the air raid and your ankle, sir."

Klink perked up. "Oh yes, now that you mention it, I think the paperwork is around here somewhere."

Before Burkhalter could protest, Hogan continued. "Yep, Lieutenant Carter, off to Oflag 18. I bet he escaped with Colonel Potter too. Of course, the only one who could _really_ confirm that is Colonel Ruebel."

"But Colonel Ruebel is dead!" Klink exclaimed.

"Is he? Boy, talk about rotten luck: losing two new prisoners in one day, then getting shot while looking for them." Hogan clicked his tongue. "Poor Colonel Ruebel."

"Yes," Burkhalter said slowly. "Poor Colonel Ruebel. It is too bad he cannot defend himself against these charges." Burkhalter stroked his chin. "I still have to finish my inspection of Oflag 18. I am sure when I do, I will discover the paperwork for _Lieutenant_ Carter."

Just then the phone rang. Colonel Klink answered it. "Yes? Good, thank you. What? Oh yes, Heil Hitler." After hanging up the phone he clapped his hand. "The messenger is on his way back."

"Good," Burkhalter barked. "Now Klink, I want you to send out some patrols to look for Colonel Potter."

"Now why would a man who escaped Oflag 18 a week ago be around here?" Hogan asked.

"Well because he just escape-" Hogan cut Klink off with a pointed look. "I mean, yes, why would he be around here?"

"Why indeed?" Burkhalter said grudgingly. "He is probably halfway back to England thanks to Colonel Ruebel's incompetence."

"You know, I always thought Colonel Ruebel could learn something from the way we do things here at Stalag 13." Colonel Klink said thoughtfully. "Why we-"

"Don't push your luck," Hogan muttered.

"Uh, yes. Well, I am sure Colonel Ruebel was just unlucky."

"Klink, shut up."

"Yes sir, shutting up."


	37. A Bit of Piece

"Gin."

"Ah pigeon pellets," Colonel Potter grumbled as he threw his cards down.

From his spot in the corner, Hogan let out a little laugh. "I tried to warn you, Doc. Don't be fooled by that dopey look on his face- Carter's the best gin player in camp."

"Aw shucks, Colonel," Carter said with a lopped-sided grin. "What do you say, Doc, best five out of nine?"

Potter shook his head. "No thanks. I'm getting mighty tired of getting my fanny kicked. Besides, you need to get some rest."

Carter grimaced and deflated slightly. "But Doc, I feel a whole lot better. I mean, look at me, sitting up and everything. I might even be able to go outside soon?" he asked with hopeful eyes.

"Soon Carter," Hogan answered for the doctor. "Once the doc gives to go ahead, we'll find a way to get you up there for a few minutes."

"Yeah, all right," Carter said glumly. "I guess it's not too easy to get me out there, seeing as how I'm not a prisoner anymore. Even Schultz might say something if he sees me." He paused. "But, I don't suppose there's any way-"

"Sorry Carter."

"Yeah. I guess that ship has sailed, huh?"

Potter reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Buck up son. Soon, we'll both be going home."

"Hmmm, home," Carter said dreamily as slowly laid himself back down on his cot. "Gosh, I kind of feel bad that I get to go home before everyone else. But, boy, I can just how much everything has changed. Why I bet my Aunt Betty has had at least another kid. Maybe two. My Uncle Sam has flat feet, you know, so he's still at home and-"

Hogan couldn't help but smile as he listened to Carter ramble. At first, Carter hadn't taken too well to the idea that he would have to go home. Having barely come back from a second bout of infection, he had been too weak to protest a whole lot when Hogan had first told him. But once he had enough strength to string more than a few sentences together, he had argued profusely against the idea. But through the combined efforts of Potter, Hogan, and the rest of the team, Carter finally gave up and accepted that it was really the only option.

It would still be a while before Carter and Potter could leave Stalag 13. Hell, by the time Carter was even well enough to make the trip, the war might be over. And until then, Hogan wasn't going to let it weigh on him too much. They were having a rare moment of peace at Stalag 13, and he was going to soak up every bit of it that he could.

Everything, he was sure, would turn out.

"Piece of pie."


End file.
